#if you find a text difficult then grapple with it harder

[globalawarenessinitiative]

Recognizing Your Own Privilege

The first step in addressing systematic racism is first identifying your own privilege. This can exist in multiple different aspects of your life, whether socially, economically, or politically. It is a difficult process to understand your own privilege. It often requires deep grappling with times in your life where one benefits because of one's race. In order to not suffer from your own bias, it is essential to talk about these experiences with other people of color. While making sure you are truly listening to other person, and pondering everything they are saying with an open mind. In doing this, it opens your eyes to their experiences and enables both parties to understand why this event unfolded the way they did. It is also just as important as a listener not to discredit the other person's feelings, even though you may feel indifferent. Once you acknowledge your own privilege, you can use it to undo the area of systematic racism through the spreading of awareness within your community.

Common Areas Where White Privilege Exists Today-

Predetermined Innocence- On average, white people are far less suspected when it comes to committing crimes as well as being stopped by police in general.

Cultural Normativity—White American culture is often seen as the norm or "default" in many American societies. This can affect beauty, language, and other important aspects of everyday life, making it harder for minorities to find the proper resources.

Employment Opportunities—This refers to the fact that, on average, a person with a white-sounding name is far more likely to get a call back than a person with a Hispanic or African-sounding name.

Education- Studies show that black students are far more likely to face more severe consequences than white students. This heavily affects their academic trajectory and leads to higher dropout rates for minority students.

Healthcare- Commonly, people of color get lower quality healthcare when compared to white patients. This can be attributed to improper attention to complaints, given the racial biases held by the health care worker.

Sources:

https://www.jstor.org/stable/24758741?seq=2#:~:text=While%20easily%20intertwined%20with%20overt,as%20deviations%20from%20the%20norm.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2022/09/15/driving-while-black-racial-discrimination-traffic-tickets/#:~:text=Many%20advocates%20argue%20that%20illegal,underlying%20rates%20of%20traffic%20violations.

[overwatchcharacterhelp]

WidowMaker - DPS

Abilities + Weapon:

Widow’s Kiss - an assault rifle that becomes a powerful sniper rifle when aiming down sights

Venom Mine (15 sec cooldown) - a projectile poisoning trap that triggers once an enemy walks close by it (can be destroyed if spotted by enemy)

Grappling Hook (12 sec cooldown) - movement ability to help reach higher ground quicker and/or make quick escapes from fights or a dive hero targeting you

Infra Sight (Ultimate) - allows entire team to see the exact whereabouts of every enemy across the entire map (even invisible Sombra’s)

Grappling Tips:

This is Widow’s only movement ability. Like other abilities, it has a limited range and can grapple onto roofs, walls, ledges and even the floor. While a pretty good get away, it can also be used for easy rotation throughout the match. Soon enough, if you keep sniping from the same spot in whatever map over and over again it will become predictable for the other team as they’ll have full knowledge on where you are and what can easily take you out from that spot. Which is why rotating sniping spots as Widow is a key component to progressing your usefulness of her. It doesn’t always have to be on high ground either although it can be harder for some to snipe from lower levels which is completely fine! The grapple can also be used for quick snipes. From a spot within the map that has a clearing or an area you can jump above (press the jump button when you are close to ending the initial grapple) you can get a sneaky and maybe easy pick. While this may be a little less useful with her recent range nerf, it can be good for making an enemy cower and making the fight a 4 v 5. Do keep in mind it takes time to get used to these if you’ve not done it before or have less experience with these actions but you’ll always improve, even if your having a bad game day :)

Venom Mine Tips:

There are not as many things I can comment on with the venom mine but it can be a great warning sign. If you are comfortably and confidently situated (let’s say in Havana in the balcony facing the payload), be wary of the only 2 ways into it. The stairs behind and the other windows. If you are unsure of where to place the venom mine in the balcony, place it somewhere by the stairwell or doorway leading into the balcony. The stairs are prime flanking spots for many heroes if they wish to be sneaky (Sombra, Genji, almost any other hero really), so it’s good to set a trap. Even though it can be destroyed, and it most likely will be, a set sound plays as it’s broken along with a piece of text in the direction of the mine saying “DESTROYED”, it also does this with when it’s triggered but instead using a gas releasing effect and showing the words “TRIGGERED”. Either way, it can give time to react however you please, whether that’s fight with the assault mode of the rifle or quickly grapple away and attempt to snipe them. But if it is a tank, it is best to regroup with your team to have help dealing with the tank if they chose to give chase as killing a tank with Widow, while isn’t impossible, is very difficult without a Mercy by your side (from my experience)

Infra Sight Tips:

There isn’t much to infra sight, other than this ult can be a game changer by giving your team the upper hand. It’s takes only 0.5 seconds to activate but it only lasts for 15.5 seconds. I recommend if your acting as defence and you’re aware the enemy team is regrouping near the end of the game/match or while your teammate(s) have a powerful ult at 100%, get a good high ground point or do a grapple jump, see where they are and activate the ult if they’re grouped in both situations. If you use mic, it’s best to communicate this with your team, but if you don’t that’s okay too, in my experience it’s best to hope and pray they’ll understand, haha. But if you are on the offence, once again utilise the infra and ult combo or use it to find a good flanking spot as a team.

[blorbosexterminator]

What do you think about the compulsory reading discourse: that students should be given easier to read books (ya books ) instead of classics? (the reasoning: because the students will find those classics boring and won't even read them)

I find it ridiculous, to be honest. It sounds exactly like should we only give kids Macdonalds because they won't like actual food? And it's obviously more ridiculous coming from literal adults ruminating on the horrible teachers that dared make them study classics. The idea that teenagers are too dumb to grasp any book slightly more complex than a ya love triangle with each character having one and a half trait with the groundbreaking theme of authority=bad is too demeaning and infantalizing.

Plus, what's a better time to read difficult texts other than when professional adults are literally being paid to help you grapple that text? When you're going to have to write about it (and thus understand it on much deeper level)? And discuss it with other people and get to hear more views into it, under the guidance of professional adults who nudge you in the right directions? I neither understand the insistence of literal adults that they were too stupid as teenagers to understand the Great Gatsby nor current teenagers who are currently crying publicly about it in the same breath as complaining that they should be "given" a voice and no one takes them seriously. I mean, if you can't understand a piece of somewhat complex fiction and insisting on your right to not even try, who would?

During the years of Middle and High school, I read a lot of YA fiction, most of what was popular at the time, John Green, the Dystopian YA genre, those fantasy novels, etc, you name it, I also read a lot of better, more established fiction, as well as, obviously, the compulsory readings I had in school, both established classics from my native country and British/American classics, Shakespeare, Shaw, Dickens, etc. I enjoyed both. I can barely remember anything of the YA fiction I read, honestly speaking, it was fun the moment of its consumption but that's it, there is no substance and at some point, the more better things you read, you'll be done with an author talking down to you, you'll aquire a taste for more refined things. YA fiction isn't the devil on Earth but humoring teenagers' institence that they are too bored by any complexity that requires their attention and curiosity and willngess to understand people that don't belong to their age group nor superficially share the same interests they do, and who are complex beings with complex thoughts and desires that don't easily fall in one group or the other and to dig for depth and profundity where they are sure to find it, then that's a sure way of raising a bunch of entitled empty-headed craps who take pride in their idiocity.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Bloodstone | Part 10 (Final)

Summary: You knew all about the ring your grandmother had told you about and yet when the stone fell from it one fateful day, you weren’t truly prepared for its return, nor who it came back with.

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

Genre: fantasy / romance

Warnings: grief over loss, cursing

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

You knew Namjoon was gone before you opened your eyes. The foreboding feeling made you clamp your eyelids together instead, refusing to face reality just yet.

Although you had been concerned with how you would cope without Namjoon in your world, as you laid as still as you could possess, your mind ran towards thoughts of his safety. Was he alive? Did he find himself in a place he was familiar with? Was he trapped in another dimension?

Blindly searching for signs of his disappearance, you gasped when something sharp pierced your skin, snapping your eyes open. There, embedded into your finger and allowing the crimson blood to trickle from the wound was a shard of crystal.

Your emotions flooded you then. Collecting up the pieces of the shattered stone, you rocked back and forth, clutching them to your chest. You wailed out in pain for your loss. You screamed to the heavens in anger. You silently allowed the emotions to fall from your eyes, feeling numb from the whole experience.

Eventually, you lost consciousness.

“Y/N? Y/N!” a voice called out and groggily you peered through an eyelid, a panic-stricken Yoongi appearing before you.

So, it wasn’t all a horrible dream after all.

“Are you okay?”

Holding out your hand to show Yoongi the shattered state of the stone and your heart, you blinked when your palm came up empty. Sitting up hurriedly and looking around yourself, you found your space void of any signs of Namjoon and the stone.

Yoongi sighed. “It’s probably whole again.”

“Bastard rock.”

“It’s been three days since I saw you. I don’t know why I didn’t come sooner. I just felt this strong urge to come and check on you. It was almost as if Namjoon infiltrated my mind. Sounds really crazy, doesn’t it?”

You attempted to laugh hollowly. “Yoongi, hasn’t everything we’ve experienced for the last few weeks been unreal?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“I’m glad you remember him,” you admitted in a small voice, swallowing down the growing lump in your throat. “I was worried life would return to before he arrived here and I’d go insane being the only one with the knowledge that he existed.”

With time, life did recover some normalcy. After mourning for another week, you managed to pull yourself up every morning, consume a mug of coffee to help battle with the fatigue you were experiencing and returned to your job. You ate the same foods you had with Namjoon, and with some time, you began to smile with the fond memory as opposed to tearfully choking the spoonfuls down. You did the things you wanted to with Namjoon one by one, hoping that ticking them off your list honoured his short and tumultuous stay in your world. You kept a journal, but unlike the one Eliza had avidly written with Namwoo at her side, you chose to document the things you did without Namjoon. It held you accountable for keeping to your promise.

It was hard to live without Namjoon, but you were determined to do so.

Still, nights were the worst. You still dreamed of him. His touch felt real within your slumber, the sensual sighs and whispered love confessions lingering even after you became alert. It was difficult to grapple with what was real and a faint memory when you opened your eyes for the first time each morning. Swallowing down the disappointment when you realised your bed was cold and empty of his presence grew harder the longer he was away.

You had endured six months without the man who had turned your world upside down with mere weeks together.

Strangely, the ring had also gone missing. When the stone had left it just a silver shell that you had placed within the drawer of your bedside table. After several weeks of recovering from Namjoon’s disappearance, you had opened the drawer to look at the ring. Even after emptying all the contents onto your bed, it had eluded you. You had searched your entire home upside down for it, even going as far as to check at the comic store as well.

The ring had gone just like Namjoon had.

“What do you want to do with all of this?” Yoongi asked when you visited him again, pointing to the stack of books. You eyed them curiously until you realised what they were. Thinking back to the day he had walked out of your apartment carrying them all, you sighed heavily. You had been so optimistic that Yoongi would find an answer in them.

And he had. It was just not one you had hoped for.

Grinning, you shrugged. “Should we burn them?”

“You want to close that chapter of your life for good?” Yoongi wondered and you shook your head. “I didn’t think so. Why be so dramatic in answer then?”

“Weren’t you the one who claimed this was all sounding a bit like Lord of the Rings? Doesn’t Frodo throw the ring into the fires of Mordor?”

“You don’t have the ring anymore to throw out even if you could.”

“No, the ring left its owner. I hope it’s not harassing another poor soul with the idea of love. It needs to be destroyed for good.”

“Perhaps Namjoon took it with him.”

“I strangely miss it,” you murmured, looking at your finger. Despite not wearing it for some time, the indent it had made upon your skin remained. It made you shiver, feeling a sense of emptiness.

Distracting yourself from the depressing concept, you reached for the stack of books, dragging them towards yourself and off the countertop. Yoongi appeared at your side, gauging if you needed his help to balance them. After rearranging the bunch a little, you shot him a satisfied smile. “I’ll take them back home. I’m sure they’ll find their places upon the bookshelves again.”

“Having them back might help with more closure to the situation,” Yoongi offered and you shared a hopeful smile before heading out into the bright afternoon.

Once home, you struggled down the hallway to your final destination, guiding the bottom book up onto your desk. Relieved to let go of the weight, you wiped at your perspired brow and removed a layer of your clothing, staring at the stack of ancient texts dejectedly.

“Why did I bring you all back here?” you asked yourself before reaching for the book on the top, taking it over to the bookshelves upon the wall and finding it a place. You repeated this task until all of them were house away neatly.

“Dinner,” you mentioned when your stomach began to grumble. After making yourself a bowl of ramen, you returned to the study to spend some time on your computer. It was about an hour into your online perusing that you heard a thud behind you from the shelf. Spinning around in the computer chair, you noticed a book had fallen to the floor. Getting up to retrieve it, you stopped when you realised what book it was.

It was the one that held the information about the ring. Gulping as the hairs stood up on your arms, you gingerly reached out for it, picking it up and cradling its spine. “You belong on the shelf now.”

Hesitating to place it back, you instead found yourself flipping through the book, ending up on the page that had changed your world all those months ago. Fingering the ancient ink gently, you winced at the pain forming in your chest and shook your head. “It’s too early for me to contemplate this fondly.”

Placing the book back on the shelf, you turned around, stopping a second time when your gaze caught something on the floor reflecting under the lights.  Stooping down to retrieve it, you couldn’t believe it.

“You weren’t here before, now were you?” you asked of the ring, rapidly looking around the room.

“No, but nor was I,” a voice mentioned with a hint of amusement and you stopped searching when your eyes landed on the purple-haired man in the doorway. Namjoon smiled and nodded as if to answer your disbelief. “I’m back, Y/N.”

It had appeared again.

This time, however, the stone hadn’t arrived alone before him. It was firmly embedded in the silver that you had once shown him and after staring at it for some time, Namjoon boldly reached out to pick it up.

After everything he had gone through because of this stone, he was no longer scared, if anything, he hoped its arrival meant something would happen to take him back to you.

It wasn’t hard to fall back into routine at home. Marian had during his disappearance turned to the local farmer’s son for support and now that Namjoon was back, he hardly saw the girl. It came as no surprise to him when she came home proclaiming she would marry Jungkook. And once she was married, the house felt fuller than before.

Namjoon yearned to leave again. He was satisfied his sister would have someone to cherish her for always. Admittedly, their shy love for one another only made him crave you. His heart ached more often than not and so to avoid their newlywed bliss, Namjoon spent from dawn to dusk working in the gem studio. But even they didn’t amaze him as much as before either.

The ring appearing whole certainly piqued his interest though. “Are you here to take me home?”

Inspecting it up close, he noticed it no longer glowed. The stone was no longer red even. It was golden, affectionate and inviting. It felt warm and fluttered when he closed his palm around it. He smiled, letting out a laugh soon after. Holding the ring made him feel connected to you again as if he was close enough to reach out for your world and dive back into it.

Closing his eyes, he found the warmth in his palm turning scorching hot, letting it go instantly. Hearing the ring clatter to the ground, Namjoon opened his eyes and looked around himself.

“Where did you go?” he wondered, dropping onto his hands and knees on the floor, searching under the desk for the ring. Crawling through the gap to the opposite side, he frowned when his hand touched something fluffy and soft. Blinking rapidly, he gripped onto the fibres before leaping to his feet and wildly glancing around himself.

“I’m not dreaming right?” he murmured, feeling all over his body for any telltale signs. And then he grinned, staring at all your homely clutter. He hadn’t realised he had missed it all until he soaked them in with his stunned focus, even dropping onto the couch to hug it. “I’m home!”

It was then that he realised he hadn’t found the ring yet. Going along the hallway, Namjoon’s breath halted when he saw the light on in the study.

Hearing you talk to the books made his chest swell and he stopped just before the door, listening on for some time. It seemed you found the ring that had granted him passage back here and after listening to you a moment longer, Namjoon stepped forward, finally catching your gaze.

“You’re real?” you asked after he told you he was back and Namjoon merely opened his arms, waiting for your impact.

Dashing across the room to enter his waiting embrace, he held you tightly to his chest once you collided against it. “I’m back. This time for good.”

“How do you know?” you wondered, looking up at him earnestly.

Namjoon reached for the ring you had in your grip and held it up. “It brought me back here. And look, it’s no longer the stone of blood.”

Inspecting the golden colour, you then glanced at the book and paled. “It’s something else now?”

“Maybe for this lifetime it’s just happy to finally succeed in bringing two lovers together.”

“I don’t trust it just yet but if it brought you back to me, then that’s something.”

Laughing, Namjoon placed it upon your finger. It glowed once before it settled completely. You eyed him suspiciously and Namjoon shrugged.

“I expect a proper proposal when the time comes.”

“You know I’ve had a long time to piece one together during my wait to see you again.”

“You know what else I’ve had a long time to think over?” you asked and Namjoon waited for you to continue. “What it truly feels like to have you kiss me once again.”

Leaning down to meet you midway, love blindly led you both into a realm of passion and reconnection during the embrace. He felt his heart soar and then collide into yours, firmly embedding itself there much as the stone had into his chest once. This time though, he knew there was nothing that could shatter this bond.

You were his truest love.

_________________

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[hoodoo12]

Familial Ties (And How to Break Them) 1/?

Based on a rp that the witty and talented @turtlepated and I did over several months.  NSFW, Beetlejuice/OC f!character, actual plot, world building, Latin, other demons, violence, smut.  Enjoy!  ~

Pate sighed, shifting the heavy sealed plastic box in her arms as she padded down the dimly lit hallway. It was long after closing time at the archives, but her boss had wheedled her into staying late to assess some new arrivals. She shouldered open the swinging door into a restoration office, depositing her load on a sterile work bench and gathering up supplies: pen and notebook, cotton gloves to protect the delicate velum pages, the assorted cleaning tools, and laying them neatly at her station before opening the box. Inside were half a dozen leather bound volumes, purchased by her boss on a recent trip to Europe. She lifted them out one by one and looked them over, judging that most were in decent enough shape to be worth salvaging.

One, she noted with a puzzled frown, appeared to be in the worst condition of the lot. And strangest of all, there was a thick metal clasp complete with an ancient padlock holding the book shut.

She set the padlocked tome aside and quickly made notations and catalogued the other books, banal volumes of religious writings for the most part, and in good enough shape not to require much attention from her. Finally she was left with only the poorly locked book, taking it gently in her gloved hands and turning it around to get a better look. From what she could tell at a cursory inspection of the cracked and worm-eaten spine, it appeared to be a collection of astronomical dissertations.

She tried the lock, tugging on it as sharply as she dared with the state of the book.

⁂

Out of the ether, a deep thrumming startled him. It was almost too faint to be felt at first, but it grew in intensity.

"There's something I never expected to feel again," Beetlejuice thought, shaking his head of the literal cobwebs.

⁂

The rusty lock refused to give, and Pate gave it one more frustrated rattle against the metal loop. She had just decided to simply discard the thing into the shelf of other moldering texts when, with no warning, the centuries-old binding ripped free and the entire block slid right out of the leather coverings. Heart leaping into her throat, Pate just managed to catch it before it hit the ground, cradling the bundle of loose leaves against her chest as she set the now empty cover back on the bench.

"Shit, Paul's gonna kill me," she grumbled.

⁂

A minor jolt went through him, like someone had run their warm, living fingers down his spine. It was just a fleeting touch, but he grinned.

⁂

Sighing harshly, Pate lay the block on the table and examined the most recent damage with a twinge of guilt. The backing and both end papers had completely torn away from the block, still hanging on the cover. She frowned at the exposed title page, wrinkled by long-dried water, the ink faded and difficult to make out. It took a few minutes to discern the title stamped into the parchment, but as best as she could tell the book was entitled "Ens entium collectio infernalia". Since her forte was restoring old books and not reading or translating them, she turned to Google.

"Being a collection of entities most infernal," she read aloud from her phone screen. But wasn't this a book about astronomy?  

Frowning in thought, Pate pulled the text block closer and began leafing through the pages. They came away stiff, some sticking together after who knew how much time spent with the book tightly shut and locked. She carefully separated pages from one another, eyes roving writing that she could not read. Instead of star charts or graphs, there were woodcut illustrations of monstrous creatures, hand-drawn sigils in iron gall ink that had browned with age.

"What the hell...?" Pate murmured to herself, flipping the block closed and reaching for the empty boards that once held it all together.

Something caught her eye on the back cover, where the pastedown ripped harshly when the block detached from the spine. There appeared to be another page tucked under the end paper.

Peeling away the pastedown, Pate took hold of the folded corner of parchment and gently tugged it free, not wanting to risk ripping it before she got a look at it. It was folded several times over, so she pushed the text block and cover across the workbench to have room to lay it down and open it out. Going slowly, the parchment crinkling like dead leaves each time she touched it, Pate carefully unfolded the bit of parchment to reveal a page. It looked different to the simple black and white woodblock illustrations in the book; this was in color, and appeared to have been rendered by hand. It depicted a male figure dressed in a strange black and white striped tunic and leggings. On his face was a devilish grin, a peculiar pointed tongue protruding from between his leering lips. The unkempt hair on his head had been colored green, and he appeared to be holding some sort of bizarre black and white snake with two heads? Pate's eyes narrowed as she leaned closer to inspect it, though it was hardly the strangest medieval illumination she'd ever seen. Next to the grinning, green haired person in his striped garments were a few lines of slightly smeared text.

⁂

Beetlejuice shivered. That was closer. That was closer.

⁂

Pate squinted harder at the splotchy lines of ink, trying to make sense of it or at least figure out what language it was written in. One thing she was certain of: this page had been torn from a completely different book that the one she found it in. It was much older, smaller than the pages of the rest of the text block. And why had someone gone to the trouble of hiding it? Whoever had written... whatever was written next to the strange illumination had very shaky handwriting, which didn't make it any easier to decipher.

"Bhet el.... What's that last thing there?" She thumbed through the internet browser on her phone, comparing text to find a match. "Bhet, el, juz? Is that it?"

⁂

"Oh, shit," he groaned. This was happening? Out of nowhere, this was happening?!

⁂

Sitting back in her chair, Pate took the torn-out page and held it at arms' length, pondering the three peculiar syllables and wondering why they sounded familiar.

"Bhet el juz…." she murmured. It does sound different, taking a shorter pause between. It was on the tip of her tongue, teasing at the outermost edge of recognition.

⁂

 Oh fuck

Electricity flooded him, making him jitter. It had to be a joke, couldn't be true; he rocked on the balls of his feet, which helped release some nervous energy and also shifted his involuntarily hard-on to a more comfortable position behind his fly.

⁂

Sighing tiredly, Pate laid the page back on the workbench and looked at the time on her phone. Had she really spent an hour and a half picking apart the enigma of the locked book? And what had she really learned? Snorting softly through her nose, Pate wheeled the chair forward to prop her elbows atop the bench, resting her chin in her hand and regarding the striped tongue snaking out of the figure's mouth.

"Bheteljuz, what's your deal, huh?" she asked no one.

At least the dirt on his pants would hide the wet spot if he came right here and now. Like a grappling hook had been driven into his gut, he was pulled through the ether to whomever called him.

When he landed, bent knees and feeling better than he'd had in forever, he threw his arms out and shouted, "Suus 'showtime!"

There was a breather here, of course, surrounded by dusty books.

"Quis es?" he asked excitedly, eager to meet this woman who so thoughtfully released him. "Gratias tibi! Gratias tibi tam! Fortuna, suus 'sit bonum, de iterum.Quis es tibi nomen?"

Pate frowned at a sudden, short lived gust of wind that ruffled the torn out page and whipped loose tendrils of hair around her face, but before she had time to wonder at it a sudden voice made her yelp and spin in her chair so fast that she nearly tipped right over.

Standing before her was quite possibly the strangest looking person she'd ever seen:  a man dressed in a rather shabby and grimy looking black-and-white-striped suit, a tangled rat's nest of verdant green hair on his head and a broad, toothy grin on his face. She blinked stupidly, sure that she must be seeing things.

"Who... who are you?" she asked, pausing to clear her throat when the question came out a tad squeaky. "How'd you get in here?"

Beetlejuice shook his head.

"ENGLISH," he crowed, like he'd solved a mystery. "I saw the books and thought some goddamn alchemist had called me up again, but the fluorescent lights should've given it away."

He took a parody breath, like this air was fresh and clean, and gave his best grin to the breather. The one that he hoped didn't look too much like he wanted to take a bite out of someone.

"What's your name, beautiful?"

Completely taken aback, Pate answered without even thinking,

"My name . . .? I'm Pate, but . . . who--?"

She cut herself off, answering her own question even as she asked it, glancing from the illumination on the orphaned page to the man standing before her and making the connection.

"This is . . . is this you?" she asked, holding it up to show him.

He grabbed it out of her hand for a closer look, breaking into a wider grin.

"Oh yeah, baby, that's me! Good thing someone beautiful and smart called me up! So. What's your pleasure? Who do I have to kill?"

Pate's eyebrows shot up, her mouth falling open.

"Kill?" she squeaked. "No! Nobody! What? Called you? How?"

Questions spun through her mind too fast for her tongue to keep up and she leaned against the bench, tenting her fingers together and pressing them to her face as she breathed deeply.

"Ooookay, this is obviously some sort of . . . stress-induced hallucination."

His brow wrinkled.

"Nobody ever wants me to kill anybody," he groused. "Hey. Hey. Pate? Sweetie, you don't look so good. Almost as pale as me! Why don'tcha sit down, m'kay? Don't need a smart one like you falling over and injuring that big brain of yours."

He stepped up to take her elbow, and really fought down the urge to give her a peek at his brain and its resident maggots, to demonstrate the worst that could happen.

Pate peeked out from behind her hands enough to see him take a step closer, one hand extending towards her in an admittedly non-threatening way but she couldn't contain the tiny frightened gasp that escaped her as she backed a step away, bumping into her chair and sending it skittering across the linoleum floor.

"That's . . . ahem . . . i's fine, I'm fine," she said, making an effort to keep her voice conversationally polite even while her mind was screaming, overwrought and uncomprehending of what was happening. "Now you said I called you? How, exactly?"

Beetlejuice frowned. "Come on, beaut. I said you were smart! You picked up my flyer. Where was it?" He spied the destroyed book and picked some of it up. "Oh! Ens entium collectio infernalia". Good old Deitrich Fuchs. Herr Fucks had to hide this book so the church didn't know it was about demons."

He chuckled. "Herr Fuchs," he repeated, like a 12-year-old boy. Then he shook himself and got back to the question at hand.

"You read my flyer--such a sweet voice, like a nightingale!--and here I am, the Netherworld's leading, and only, bio-exorcist, at your service. Don't confuse me for a genie, though. Those guys think they're so great, what with that fucking Disney movie making them out to be fun and funky playmates, but a couple of things. One, they stink. Cooped up in a lamp? Come one. Two. They're cranky assholes, because you guessed it: they're stuck in lamps. Three? They can't show you the same kind of good time that I can, baby. If you catch my drift. And I think you do."

He clicked his tongue and winked.

"So if I'm not killing anyone, is that what you're after? I can most certainly accommodate you there too. There's usually this other guy that gets called more than me, but you've obviously got better taste calling me instead."

There was definitely a tension headache working its way into her temples as Pate blinked dumbly at the onslaught of words, only half of which her brain managed to process and understand. His flyer? Had he hidden the page in the book himself? But if that were the case . . . Like a lightbulb switching on, it suddenly clicked. That word! Bhetlejuz! She couldn't explain how, not even to herself, but somehow or another saying it out loud had brought him here! But from where?

Before a new flood of questions had time to wash over her, his innuendo filtered into her consciousness and she stiffened, mortified to feel warmth in her face that she hoped the overhead fluorescence would bleach out before he noticed. Clearing her throat, she made a valiant effort to steer the conversation back to a more . . .  professional topic.

"Wait, are you saying you actually knew the author? But that would make you . . . " She did the math in her head, guestimating the age of the tome itself. "Almost five hundred years old?"

He didn't miss the color that rose in her cheeks.

"Now you're looking a little flushed, sugar," he remarked, and sidled closer again, even though she'd rebuffed him before. His voice dropped. "It looks good on you. I'd be interested in seeing if that pretty blush shows up anywhere else . . ."

He cleared his throat and twisted his hips just a tad; it'd been a while since he'd been near, well, anyone, and having a raging boner wouldn't endear him to her! She didn't look like she'd appreciate a femur as a joke at the moment, either. He switched topics, for her sake.

"Let's table that and revisit it later, okay? Your question about Herr . . . Fuchs? Christ that guy should've changed his name. Nice guy. Nervous. Well, he would've been tortured and probably drawn and quartered, so I guess he had reason to me. But yeah! Well, I'm more like six hundred-ish, but what's a century or two?"

Her blush only deepened when he called her out because of course he'd noticed.... She tensed at the close proximity and the blatant flirting, but she still had questions.

"This book," she said, turning to the side to heft the flayed text block into her hands. "Did you say it was about demons? How did Fuchs know about them?"

Pate ignored the snicker at the author's name. "Did you help him write it?" Her curiosity was getting the better of her now, replacing the fear and the uncertainty of this whole strange turn of events.

"How the Fuchs indeed," he chortled. Her query sobered him up a little bit, however. "I'm not at huge liberty to divulge past summoner's requests. Well, mainly I don't want to. I will say that now that I think about it, Fuchs might have earned that surname fair and square. Foolin' around with a demon--even one as handsome as myself--would also earn you a stake in the middle of a bonfire, if you know what I mean."

Despite herself, Pate couldn't help but chuckle at the idea of a demon abiding by a client confidentiality clause. This whole ordeal was simply too surreal, part of her still wondered if she wasn't dreaming.

"I suppose that's understandable," she conceded.

The sound of voices filtering down the hall interrupted her chain of thought. Someone was coming! But who'd be here at this time of night? Pate fumbled for her phone and checked the time.

"Holy shit! It's almost 7! The first shift is coming in!" She turned, looking from the dismantled tome to the demon leaning against the work bench.

"Oh . . . were you doing something naughty down here you don't want them to find?" Beetlejuice asked. Then something occurred to him. "Wait! It's me, isn't it!"

"Well, not to be blunt, but yes! Can you... I dunno, hide or something?" she asked, scooping up the flier and the sad remnants of the demon bestiary.

"Why would I want to hide this prime specimen of demonhood?" he retorted, offended. Seeing the panic on her face, however, he downgraded his response. "Don't worry that pretty little head of yours, sugar. I can be discreet."

Pate rolled her eyes at his bravado, sliding the text block carefully back into its cover and stashing the whole thing in her bag. It was unlikely to be missed, but it wasn't something she wanted to leave lying around. And, if she were honest with herself, she was fascinated by it and unable to resist the temptation of taking it home for a closer look.

Bheteljuz, which she assumed now must be his name, was nowhere in sight when she next looked but she got the distinct impression that he hadn't gone far.

The first shift crew came in then, surprised to see her still in the office but not enough to raise alarm bells. Gripping the strap of her shoulder bag protectively in both hands, Pate did her best to play it cool and bid them all goodnight, exiting the parking lot with a stolen 15th century book of demonology and an invisible demon? ghost? man? at her heels.

 tbc

[missmentelle]

I keep hearing "if you're worried about being a bad person, you're not a bad person" and just wondering if that's true from a psychology perspective? The line of logic goes, a "real" toxic/abusive/narcissistic person wouldn't care that their actions hurt others, so if you're worrying about it, then you're definitely not one. Is that really the case though?

It’s... complicated. But no, not really. 

So, for starters, there’s no such construct as a “bad person” in psychology. Or a “good person”, for that matter. “Bad” and “good” are value judgments, and psychology tries to avoid making value judgments; we simply aim to identify and describe certain patterns of symptoms of behaviour. The fact of the matter is that everyone does things that could be considered “bad” and “good”, and no one is perfect. We have all hurt other people in our lives, both intentionally and unintentionally. It’s also important to remember that morality is not black-and-white - many, many things fall into a moral grey zone, and different people will have wildly different perspectives on what is right and wrong, and who is a “good” person or a “bad” person. A doctor or psychologist cannot tell you if you are a good person or not. That is something that you ultimately have to decide for yourself, after carefully comparing your own actions to the values that you hold. 

You are right that there are certain diagnoses that make a person much more likely to harm others in their lives without really examining their own actions too closely. People with narcissistic or anti-social personalities tend to center their own feelings, and disregard any hurt they cause others. Narcissistic people specifically think of themselves as being highly important, special, and deserving of recognition and success. They tend to enjoy being in a position of power over others, and they are comfortable manipulating and harming others for their own gain. People with anti-social tendencies and disorders, on the other hand, are easily bored and enjoy antagonizing others to get a reaction - any reaction. They are chronically irresponsible, deceitful, and uncaring, and they have no empathy for the people they hurt. If you find that you are chronically unable to feel any empathy for the people around you, or to regard their feelings in any way, that’s definitely a huge red flag that you’re probably harmful to the people around you - although of course, you won’t really care. 

Unfortunately, though, caring if you hurt people is not a guarantee that you aren’t doing it. Life and mental health are just not that simple. Many people who behave in toxic or manipulative ways toward others are anguished about it, and constantly worry about it - yet they continue to do it anyway. I think most of us have been in the awkward position of having a friend who didn’t treat us very well, possibly due to serious mental health concerns (maybe too clingy, dropping in and out of our lives without warning, flaky, not interested in our problems, overly critical, etc) who also asked for constant reassurance that they weren’t a horrible person and that you didn’t hate them. My boyfriend has an ex with untreated borderline personality disorder; she constantly, constantly agonized over the possibility that she was a “toxic person”, while doing nothing to change the fact that she was actually being extremely toxic to the people in her life. She harassed my boyfriend for more than six months after they broke up, while still continuing to make public social media posts of herself crying and talking about how she never wants to be a bad person. Although it’s fictional, another good example of this phenomenon can be found in Bojack Horseman - the main character spends the entirety of the show grappling with what it means to be a good person, while also consistently hurting the people around him. It would be nice to believe that simply worrying about hurting others is a guarantee that we don’t do it, but it’s just not that easy. 

Figuring out if you are being hurtful to the people you care about is a ongoing process that requires constant honesty with yourself, vigilance, and self-reflection. Being worried is not enough - you have to dig a lot deeper than that. For instance, you need to consider:

What does my relationship history look like? Everyone has relationships that end poorly or just don’t work out, for a wide variety of reasons. But it’s important to examine your relationships as a whole, to see if any troubling patterns emerge. When your relationships end, do you tend to just drift apart and lose contact, or do they tend to end with dramatic blow-ups? Do people tend to remain on okay terms with you after losing contact, or have you had a lot of people specifically block you and cut you out of their life? Again, everyone has had relationships go sour, but if there is a consistent pattern of people dramatically severing ties and relationships turning hostile and toxic, it’s typically a sign that there’s a problem in there that’s worth examining.

How do I react when I realize I’ve wronged someone? When you realize you have done someone wrong - either by your own realization, or by them telling you - how do you react? Do you accept responsibility and apologize, even if you think the incident was no big deal? Do you ignore the situation? Do you do something to try to make it up to them? Have you ever gotten angry or upset with someone for telling you that you hurt them? Again, fuck-ups and mistakes happen - we are human. It’s how you deal with those fuck-ups that matters. 

How were the last few arguments I’ve been in resolved? Think back to the last few times you had a serious disagreement with someone. What happened? Were you able to resolve the issue in a way that worked for both of you? Did the argument escalate? Did one person steamroller over the other? Disagreements are inevitable, but the way that we handle even the most serious difference of opinion says a lot about who we are. 

Am I generally reliable in relationships? Do you show up when you say you’re going to show up? Do you remember the things people tell you, or do you have to constantly be reminded about the basic details of other people’s lives? Do you send birthday greetings, answer texts most of the time, and make a point to be there for important events in others’ lives? Again, no one is perfect at this, but making an effort to be consistent about this stuff - and giving others a heads-up or apology when you are struggling to do it - is important. 

Have I been insensitive with others? Are you sensitive to other people’s needs? Do you generally manage to use tact when discussing delicate topics with people? Do you remember to avoid certain topics with certain people, and avoid airing people’s personal information in front of others? Nobody has perfect manners, but it’s important to make an effort to consider the comfort and feelings of others.

How do I treat people that I dislike? How you treat the people you dislike - or don’t know - is almost as important as how you treat the people you do like. Do you ever behave vindictively toward people you don’t like? Do you gossip about them? Have you ever gone out of your way to make someone’s life harder in some way because you didn’t like them? It can seem satisfying or justified to get our revenge on someone who wronged us, but this can quickly reach a point where it’s unproductive and cruel. 

Do I take no for an answer? Do friends and loved ones feel comfortable saying no to me? Do I tend to accept it when things don’t go my way, or do I tend to push and try to convince others to change their minds? Have I ever gone behind someone’s back after they’d already said no? It can be difficult to face rejection or an outcome that you don’t want, but being able to take it gracefully is important.

Obviously, this isn’t a comprehensive list of what it takes to be a “good person” to others, and you don’t have to hit every point on it all the time. We all have times where we are stressed and tired, or where we just drop the ball. Shit happens. But it’s important to keep examining ourselves in an honest way, and looking for places we can improve. Best of luck to you!Miss Mentelle

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Wet Sugar [Part 8 of 30]

Summary: Erik tries to survive Africa for himself and Yani...

"You're on your own now We won't save you Your rescue squad Is too exhausted

And if you complain once more You'll meet an army of me And if you complain once more You'll meet an army of me…"

Bjork – "Army of Me"

The two men outside of Erik's hotel door stood quietly waiting for him to open up.

Erik took a few seconds to assess how fast he could pack his things and slip out of the room through the balcony. He was on the fourth floor, but he might be able to climb over to the balcony next to his.

Another knock.

Slipping on his clothes, Erik shoved his computer tab into its casing. He slinked over to the closed balcony sliding glass door and opened it. There was a wide gap between the balconies on either side of his own. It was too dangerous to attempt a jump. He thought he could tie his bedsheets together and climb down to the room below him, but before he could even reach the bed, the hotel door opened, not by being kicked in, but with a room key.

Someone had set him up.

The two hulky men rushed Erik and he used his crossbody bag to snag the hand holding the gun pointed at him. He wrapped the bag around the bearded man's wrist and swung him around, kicking him in the knees at the same time until the man dropped to the floor. Erik twisted the gun toward the man's throat and jammed his own index finger on top of the other man's finger and squeezed the trigger. The bullet ripped a wet hole in the man's throat unleashing a gushing cascade of blood. Erik released the gun and spun into a capoeira leg swipe to make the other bald-headed man lose his balance. The bald intruder was too quick and grabbed Erik's throat, choking him while pushing him out toward the balcony.

Erik dug his heels into the floor to stop the man's momentum but he was outweighed by at least fifty pounds and Erik felt the hard jab of the hotel balcony railing digging into his lower back. Before this killer had a chance to reach for his gun, Erik switched up his mother's Brazilian fighting stance to that of his father's. Ulwa was a Wakandan martial art that targeted an opponent's core and vital organs and Erik's index and middle fingers curled into hooks. He struck the man's neck twice and then made quick punctuating stabs into his chest and sides.

For an all too brief moment, Erik had the brute backing up so that he could raise his body from the railing, but a fist made like a cement block knocked Erik in the jaw throwing him back again. That strike was joined by a barrage of punches that had Erik gasping and falling to his knees, his hands twisting and jabbing to stop more blows while protecting his neck and face.

The business end of a gun was jammed against his forehead and the cool metal made him take hot shallow breaths. His eyes stared directly at the hired killer's pockmarked face, a calm coming over him as he worked out a multitude of scenarios to get himself out of this alive. It wasn't the first time a weapon had been stuck in his face over the years, so there was no begging and pleading to be kept alive. Just a stream of calculations running through his mind.

"Who fucking sent you here?" he barked, buying a little more time. The man's eyes looked smug, and he smiled. One of his top front teeth was chipped and he pressed the gun harder into Erik's forehead. The stranger slid his free index finger up to his lips making the "Shh" sign and before he could fire the weapon, Erik used all the force in his right fist to punch the man in his balls. Twice. He snatched the man's gun from his hand and threw it into the hotel room as he jumped to his feet. They grappled with each other's shirts and Erik threw a punch that caught the man's eye. Leaping back with his left leg, Erik pivoted his hips giving momentum to his right foot as he lifted it and kicked the man in his chest. He struck the man in the face with his right foot again and again. A final hard kick to his midsection sent the man tumbling over the railing. Erik heard the thud as the body hit the ground.

Wasting no time, Erik shoved the man's weapon into his crossbody bag and scurried to pack up the last of his belongings. They all fit into a small duffle bag. He spent a few minutes wiping down all the surfaces he touched and then rinsed off the wash rags he had used to clean up his semen.

Turning off all the lights, he slipped out of the hotel room and used the stairs to get to the lobby. Dark glasses over his eyes, he kept his head down and left the hotel. Flagging a cab, he had the driver take him to another hotel across town.

Erik paid for a room in the new hotel with cash and made a call to his pilot.

"Joma, I need to leave tonight," he said into his cell. Staring out of the new hotel window, Erik felt his adrenaline kicking in. He was always calm in the midst of trouble, but right after, his body would remind him that he was human.

"Mr. Killmonger, it is so late, it may be difficult to get—"

"I'll double the pay. I need to get out of the country now!"

"Call me back in ten minutes. I will see what I can do."

"Ten minutes."

Think.

Joma was a desperate man, but Erik didn't think he would be involved in a plot to kill him. It might be better to get a regular domestic flight back into Angola to be safe. But if it was Joma, they would be the only two in the plane. Erik could kill him if it turned out the man was an accomplice. He could fly the plane himself if he really needed to. But he was always good at sniffing people out, and Joma was just a regular dude. His desperation was because of a bossy wife and too many children. He wouldn't take the chance of bringing harm to his family. He knew right away that Erik was not a man to double-cross. In fact, Joma was eager to work for Erik again once he saw what he was paying for a regular flight.

Erik kept his eyes on the entrance of the hotel.

Time to call.

"Joma—"

"Okay, meet me at the airstrip. I will take you."

Erik hung up. Wiping his prints and any traces of himself away, he left the second hotel.

The streets were busy and the cab he caught he ditched a few miles away from the hotel to throw off his trail if he was followed. Moving through the night time crowd of people, he zig-zagged his way down different streets, dipping in and out of bars and cafes before he took a final jitney cab to the airstrip. The last cab driver was paid a little extra than the fare required and Erik showed him the gun that he took from the intruder. Pointing it at the man he made his intentions clear.

"You never saw me, and you never came to this airstrip. Understand?"

The cabbie nodded and left right away.

Joma was waiting for him and they slipped out of Benin. Staring down at the city lights as the plane ascended, Erik thought of the two dead bodies growing cold at the hotel. He had to find out who was after him.

And kill them first.

###

Erik didn't mention anything about being attacked in Benin.

He acted normal and ready to get to work when Klaue picked him up from the regular airport and brought him back to the Luanda compound. He went to his small room in the two-story house they occupied and rested a bit. He focused on calming his energy, but it was hard when he suspected that the attack might be an inside job. A lot of Klaue's men didn't like him. But not many were bold enough to confront him if they had a problem. Erik could be pretty belligerent and a bully over basic shit, so coming at him over something major was not something any of those meat bags would attempt overtly. But covertly…

His first thought was Huntsman. That man was already in Nigeria waiting for Klaue so it would've been easy for him to pay off some goons to come after Erik since he was relatively close by. It could possibly be Limbani, Klaue's main man after Erik. He would just have to keep an eye and ear out for anyone acting suspiciously over the fact that he made it back to Luanda in one piece. Any slight looks of surprise or a subtle expression of disappointment at his walking around the compound again would help him sniff out clues.

He couldn't rest, and he took a sleeping pill to help temper his nerves. He wasn't falling asleep fast enough and used the restless energy in his body to use his own satellite cell phone to sneak a peek at his DMs.

Killmonger? This You?

I know this is you. Where are you?

You there? I know you saw my first message. You had me on read.

Call me.

Will you come back?

Are you alright?

Just tell me you are alright. I won't bother you again.

Are you with your Linda?

Killmonger?

???

He ignored his social media feed for weeks. He could hear the sound of Yani's tender voice as he read each of her messages. He read them over and over. His eyes felt a bit drowsy and blurry as he stared at the screen of his cell. He was about to swipe his phone off when a new message suddenly popped up.

Sweet Pea misses you. I miss you.

Erik sat up from his bed, his eyes blinking at her new words.

He had extended family scattered around the world, and they missed him often, but they weren't waiting around to see him. The only person who ever missed him in that way was his Ex. That was so long ago he had forgotten the emotion and the sensation he was feeling at that moment…guilt. Guilt came when one felt bad for making another person feel even worse. And that only happened to Erik when he cared about someone. And Disǎ was the only non-relative who made him feel like that…until now. Now, there were two people out there. A mother and her baby.

I know you're there. You just read this.

He saw little green circles light up. She was writing something more. He wanted to turn his phone off, kicking himself internally for not shutting off his public online status. She must've had his feed linked to her notifications for whenever he was on live the same time she was. He had to focus on who wanted him dead, not lay there like some moon-faced teenager filled with angst.

He expected another text but instead, a picture of Sydette popped up.

Erik's eyes widened. He had only been gone for a little over a month, and already the baby was bigger and changing dramatically. She was wearing a blue jumper and her hair was pulled up into two fist-sized afro puffs. So much more hair now. And there were those big dimples in her smile, and…two little teeth trying to grow from her top gums, looking like tiny white grains of rice.

Yani…

He typed her name but hesitated about sending it. He could just read her messages and not respond, knowing that she was alright, but ignoring her.

But that was cruel.

She and the baby were on his mind all the time. As much as he fought to forget them and just keep on his task, keep Klaue close, keep his eyes on the prize as always, he couldn't let go of them. He didn't understand the sudden attachment. It was messing up his mental. He was a loner. His only responsibility was to himself and his goal…

He pressed the send button.

Yani.

Green circles again.

Her words made his heartache.

Tell me it's you, please, tell me. I need to know.

Words wouldn't be enough for her.

Erik held his cell phone high above his head and snapped a picture. He sent it to her.

He saw the green circles on her end and he waited to see what she would say. But no words came. For five minutes he sat and waited, but no text popped up for him to read. He saw that she viewed his picture, Yani knew for sure it was him, but she still didn't send him new words. And he needed them. Desperately.

It's me, baby. It's really me.

A private Face Chat link popped onto his screen with Yani's avatar. He accepted the invitation to join her.

Her round face greeted him and her eyes were wet with tears. She was lying on her bed in Leona's apartment with Sydette in her arms feeding her. He could see Sweet Pea suckling her left breast with Yani's thin sleep shirt pushed up above the baby's curly head of hair. Yani was using a laptop to speak to him.

She wiped her eyes and stared at him. He couldn't breathe for a second. Couldn't speak. Just watched her feed the baby while trying to absorb the swirling emotions he was feeling. He was grateful to see her. Happy to see Sydette. And he was scared. The fear welled up in him and he could not ascertain exactly what it was that frightened him as he looked at this young woman with her child.

"You look tired, Killmonger," she finally said.

Her voice made his lower lip tremble. He longed to hear her say his real name.

"I am tired. Tough day, girl."

Her hand went up to her face again to wipe at her eyes.

"Sweet Pea…she uh…wow, she's really growing, huh?" he said.

Yani nodded and he could see her struggling to keep her composure, her chest heaving and causing Sydette to squirm in her arms. Her eyes gazed down at the baby.

"She changes every week almost. And these new teeth coming in…whew!"

Erik laughed and he was glad to see Yani smile. She lifted her head back up to look at him.

"You're not ever coming back, are you?"

He felt the hot tears slide down from his eyes. He had no control over them and was shocked that they fell from his eyes in front of her so easily. If he had a target on his back, he didn't want to bring it with him to her.

"Yani I—"

The door to his room flung open and Erik ended the chat with a swipe of the finger. His right hand swept under his pillow and brought out the gun he took from the hotel.

"You still up, man?"

Shipley staggered in with a can of beer. Erik's mind was so distracted that he forgot to lock his room. He slipped the gun under the covers near his hip.

"I'm about to go to sleep now."

"Who were you talking to?"

"My sister."

"Come have a beer with me, I'm bored. Everyone else is asleep but there's a match on. England versus France."

"I'll pass," Erik said turning over in his bed and switching off his bedside lamp.

"Party pooper."

Shipley closed his door. Erik waited a few minutes then leaped up to lock his room. He thought about calling Yani back on the Face Chat line, but he couldn't bear to see her cry again. It would only make him break down more too. It was enough for now that she knew he was fine.

He shoved the gun under the second pillow on his bed and tried to go to sleep, wanting so badly to dream of Yani and Sweet Pea. Wanting so badly to be in the bed with them at Leona's. He wanted to hold her while she held the baby. And maybe for once…just once…be still.

###

Erik checked all ten of the trucks loaded with assault rifles and made sure numbers matched up with all paperwork needed to cross the Angola borders into Zambia and Namibia. Their stockpiles of weapons were low once this last shipment went out, but another one of Klaue's cargo planes from South Africa was due to touch down in a few hours with the armaments the Nigerians wanted.

"Relax Killmonger, I've double checked everything," Limbano said, annoyance in his voice as Erik's eyes took in everything.

"And now I'm triple checking. Can't afford to miss anything. You remember last time."

Limbano kept his mouth shut. 500 man-portable air-defense systems were loaded onto an incorrect convoy headed out of Luanda into the Congo, and disaster was averted when Erik's OCD kicked in and he had to look over the paperwork and trucks himself. Limbano was in charge of that job and nearly botched it.

Secure that everything was in order, Erik gave the head nod to move out and he sought out Klaue.

"Flights on time," Klaue said typing into a laptop as he sat under a cooling tent.

"Good," Erik said.

"Got a little nibble for some grenades and small arms in Botswana," Klaue said, his eyes twinkling with the thought of another sale.

"And?"

"And?"

"I'm ready to get up outta here, man," Erik said.

"In and out. Half payment upfront, the rest on delivery. Then a nice week off before we head to Kabul. Four-man team cut four ways only."

"Who do you have in mind besides me?"

"Limbano and Iverson. Low key. Go in like tourists. Check the players out. Take the cash. Set up delivery."

Erik needed to keep this man close. Klaue's greed had him doing penny-ante jobs that were more for the thrill than for financial gain. Erik needed this fucker alive until he was ready to kill him and use his body as a bargaining chip. Turning him down could cause problems and force the man to cut him loose in the future if he felt Erik was being selective with jobs. He was supposed to be about that money. He had to do it. Especially if he wanted to take advantage of getting back to St. Thomas and locked into the man's stronghold.

"How soon?"

"Two days from now."

"Okay."

Klaue rubbed his hands together.

"My good man! Two more jobs and then a nice long break."

Erik looked at Klaue's prosthetic arm. It appeared tampered with and not in good condition.

"What's going on with that?" he asked.

"Making some alterations, but it's not doing so well. Need to figure out how to design something with a better energy transfer without shorting out the mechanical use. It's too uneven. I could blow my entire side out."

"When I have that vacation time you keep talking about, I'll come up with something for you to fix that," Erik said. Klaue smiled.

Erik nodded to the lead truck driver and watched the vehicles head out. Africa was wearing on him. The one bright spot was finding a hired guard for the Luanda compound who shared the origins of capoeira with him once he saw Erik working out under the hot sun during a lunch break. To be in the birthplace of the fighting style he learned from Brazilians who carried it with them into the New World was an honor he couldn't deny. Ramses, the guard who played with him and showed Erik the differences in style was a humble man with a sister and disabled brother to support.

Erik shared meals with Ramses and they spoke of wars and political fiascos infecting the region. Men like Klaue made the problems worse, but many Angolans were caught trying to survive any way they could. Men like Ramses tried to minimize harm to their families. Klaue paid well, and sometimes men were killed in his employ, but Ramses had survived three years and counting. A month's salary from Klaue could keep Ramses and his family afloat for six months.

The night before Erik was to fly into Botswana, he snuck another peek at Yani's timeline under a new fake social media account. More pictures of Sydette. More pictures of Yani at the beach posing in swimsuits. Provocative shots. Showing too much in Erik's opinion.

There was one of her in an orange two-piece that made her skin look like magic as she sat back with a smile on her face, her legs open on wet sand, foamy high tide water rolling up to the apex of her thighs, her fat vulva barely covered. His face got a little tight looking at the picture. He enlarged it so he could see the outline of her pussy lips clearer. He wanted to send her a DM telling her to stop sharing photos like that, but she would know it was him. Niggas online were getting an eyeful and he was hanging on by a thread trying to get back to her so he could taste that juicy center of hers once more. He was tired of being just another faceless digital creep jerking off to her photos. He did that more often than he cared to admit. That pussy had sat on his dick once. Albeit fully clothed, that covered slit was made for him, and he couldn't wait to lift her up again and drop her down on his shit raw. Put her ass to sleep.

Klaue acted on edge the entire flight to Botswana. No, not on edge. Hungry. Hungry for some grand scheme that would satiate the greed that would never leave him. The greed permeated all that Klaue touched. Made him reckless with decisions.

Erik had been to Botswana twice before, and each time felt sketchy, to say the least. Something about the smallness of the place made him cautious. In other countries on the continent, Erik felt that one could seamlessly blend in and disappear, but with this place, there was no telling what familiar face on the mercenary circuit could pop up…friend or foe. Or both in the same individual.

They stayed two nights in a hotel near the Zimbabwe border doing touristy things like they were a group of buddies on holiday. Klaue wanted to arrive at the border post right when it was evening, that way if they sensed problems with the meet-up, they could implement an escape and evasion plan. Each man had emergency cash sewn into their utility belts in case something happened and they were separated. Erik had several thousand British pounds and a fake passport in his belt. The jeep they rented from a local had plenty of gas to get them to their meet-up. They reached the customs post and waited in line behind two Scottish blokes who were hitchhiking through Zimbabwe.

"Sir, these men need a ride to a hotel. Could you give them a lift?"

The short customs official had a pleasant face as he asked Klaue to assist the strangers. Klaue gave a wide grin that showed off his gold-rimmed teeth.

"No problem!" Klaue said.

The short custom official looked pleased and set about getting the proper customs documents that they would need for their jeep to cross the border. Erik felt calm as he watched the sun dip low on the horizon. Darkness would be their friend. This customs dude just needed to step up his paperwork game so they could leave quickly and be on their way.

"Shit," the customs guy said.

Erik and the other men watched him closely.

"I am sorry, I don't have the papers here to document your vehicle properly—"

"Just have one of them drive you over to the other border and bring back some extra forms," another customs official said looking bored as he scratched the back of his neck.

Klaue jumped at the chance to do it. It would mean that their vehicle would probably avoid being checked. Klaue and Limbano had some weapons stashed in the paneling of the doors. Erik agreed to go with Klaue and have Limbano and Iverson stay behind.

The ride over was punctuated with Klaue talking way too much to the customs agent. Erik felt like over-talking was suspicious, but he kept his mouth shut and kept his eyes on the road.

Arriving at the control point at the other border-crossing, Erik and Klaue stepped out and followed the agent as he went to retrieve their needed papers. Things were already feeling off, and Erik kept his eyes on Klaue who was less loquacious. Standing near the desk of an on-duty policeman, Erik noticed a full-faced photo of Klaue and Limbano. Right there, out in the open. Descriptions and a listing of their crimes. Fucking wanted posters smack dab in the middle of a border checkpoint. Probably had one of Erik under theirs too. All the check-points probably had the same flyers everywhere.

The policeman hadn't made the connection of the photo with the man before him and Erik slid over to Klaue.

"There's a wanted poster of you and Limbano," Erik whispered.

"Shit," Klaue said when his eyes spotted his mug shot.

"They shopped your ass and we walked right into it," Erik said under his breath while avoiding eye-contact with Klaue. A loud jangling phone rang in back of the customs office and the policeman glanced at the flyer on his desk and then up at Klaue. His eyes went back to the photo again and then things clicked.

"It's him! It's him!" The policeman jumped up and yelled for someone to bring a gun. Uniformed officials swarmed around them.

"There are two more over at checkpoint three," said the customs agent that rode over with him, his voice giddy with excitement. Chatter on a police radio alerted their Zimbabwe counterparts that Klaue had been apprehended. Erik focused his breathing to stay even. Within twenty minutes, Limbano and Iverson were brought in, all of them now in police custody. Erik did his best not to think of all the years he put in to get to Wakanda and to have that goal bashed because he would now do time in a Botswana prison because of his ties to his secret enemy. His mind immediately went to his Uncle Bakari in D.C. He would be allowed to have a lawyer and he wanted his Uncle to represent him since his specialty was International Law. More practical calculations swam in his head. He had to get the fuck away from here. He didn't want to lose Klaue over his reckless stupidity and greed, but he also had to think of his own well-being. His own survival. Without Klaue, getting into Wakanda would prove more difficult, but not impossible.

The four of them were crammed into the jeep they had driven over in. Police vehicles escorted them from the front and back over to a larger local police base. Their car was searched and their weapons were found in the door paneling. Shit was just too smooth. Erik wondered if this bust was part of the set up to have him killed in Benin.

Erik exchanged glances with Klaue, Iverson, and Limbano. It was do or die time. He noticed that none of the officers had guns on them, just two that stood near the vehicles and the main office door. The longer they were there, the faster their lives would be put in danger. Erik's Special Forces training kicked in. Rule number one: don't waste fucking time.

Erik sucker-punched the official right next to him. Klaue and the others did the same quickly knocking the men down. They all made a run for the tall security gate that divided the two countries. Erik was in top shape and reached the fence first, scrambling over it with ease.

Two officials tried grabbing for Klaue and Iverson's legs as they went up, but Lambino helped beat them back before he was scampering up the chain links himself. The falling darkness was their friend as they rushed into the bush on the other side disappearing into the early night, turning into shadows that the officials couldn't see.

They wasted little time putting distance between themselves and the fence. Erik heard the sound of tripped up feet. When he stopped to glance back, he saw Klaue limping.

"My ankle is injured from the fence," he said between gritted teeth, the pain squeezing a few tears from his eyes. Klaue would have to keep moving through the injury or he was a dead man.

"Broken? Torn ligaments?" Erik shouted.

"It just fucking hurts," Klaue said running on it through clenched teeth.

"Keep moving forward. The Zambezi is up ahead. We'll find a boat and get across!" Limbano yelled.

The four men headed in the direction that smelled like water to Erik. Iverson helped Klaue along.

Hope sprung eternal as they found a makorro, a wooden dugout canoe sitting on the bank. Erik and Limbano pushed it out onto the water, and as they all hopped in to make their getaway with the oars lying inside of it, the damn thing sank under them once they were far from the shore.

Treading water in the dark, Erik could see people lining up and down the riverbank screaming at them. Shots rang out and he could hear bullets plopping into the water near them. They had to move further out and downstream. And that brought another immediate danger. Crocs and hippos.

"Fuck!" Iverson screamed.

He'd been hit by one of the bullets whizzing over their heads. Struck in the left shoulder and also grazed on the left side of his head.

"How bad?!" Erik yelled.

"Bullet passed through," Iverson yelped.

"Keep fucking swimming!" Klaue screamed and they all moved along with the strong current of fast-flowing water.

Erik swam like a dolphin but kept his eyes on Klaue to make sure the man survived. He was doing his best with his arms, but his injured ankle made it difficult to keep up. The man struggled but kept swimming.

"Keep going! We can make it!" Erik yelled to encourage the others. He didn't care about Limbano or Iverson. Klaue had to make it out of there with him.

Searchlights scanned the water, and Erik could hear splashing and movement in the current that wasn't coming from humans. Iverson's blood was attracting the large crocs, and Erik was surprised they hadn't been attacked by them yet.

The river itself had to be half a mile across, and Erik kept his eyes on land as the dark water soaked his mouth as he tried to breathe deep to keep his body going. It was terrifying to think that he could be dragged under the current by a hungry fourteen-foot-long and twelve- hundred-pound beast. He worried about the amount of blood loss Iverson was seeping into the river creating a crimson path right to them.

Hours had passed by the time they all made it to Zambian territory, floating through to the dense thickness of a reed bank that stretched out hundreds of yards into the river from the bank. Zimbabwe and Botswana had already rung the alarm in tracking them down. Klaue was worth a pretty penny to whoever ratted him out to the borders. The Zambezi sat conjoined with three countries, Botswana, Zambia, and Zimbabwe. Any and all of those nation-states could want Klaue. Hell, even his own country of South Africa too.

With no machete to slice through the thick reeds, they would each have to force down reeds in front of them, flatten them down as best they could and drag themselves over until they encountered the next standing reeds blocking their ease to dry land. Erik could see torches burning up and down the opposite side of the river as perhaps a hundred men searched for them. Fast boats could be heard and a few seen with spotlights going up and down the water.

He was fucking drained and yet he knew he couldn't stay there. None of them could. The search teams would get closer and closer and the Zambians were already on their side searching. It would only be a matter of time before they were discovered. And Klaue couldn't move for shit. His ankle had swollen up big and he was in immense pain. His anger was just as intense as he whispered to Limbano about who could've sent their photos to the authorities when only the four of them knew about the meetup. Limbano gave his opinion, but Iverson kept quiet, pressing his hand into his wound. The moon was half full and they kept themselves hidden in the reeds, resting for a moment. They were exposed alongside the water. Zambia's militia would find them and take them back into custody if they didn't do something fast. Erik slipped his emergency cell from his utility belt. Klaue did the same.

"I'm not getting reception on mine," Erik said.

"Me neither," Klaue said.

"I lost mine back in the jeep," Limbano said.

"Lost mine in the river," Iverson said. He moaned a bit as he held his body.

"We gotta keep moving," Erik said lifting his hand up to wipe water from his eyes.

"Shh, listen!" Klaue said.

They all remained silent.

Shouts.

They could hear men in the distance. They were getting progressively closer.

"They are being thorough," Klaue said. He moaned low into his chest. His ankle was even more swollen.

Iverson gave out a loud groan.

"Keep it down," Klaue said.

"I'm in pain too!" Iverson shouted.

"Shut the fuck up. You want them to hear you?" Erik said.

For three hours they listened to the voices in the distance grow closer.

"We gotta get back in the water," Erik said.

"I can't!" Iverson howled.

Erik crawled over to the man and shoved him into the water. Iverson flailed his arms and dragged himself back up onto the reeds.

"Shit!" Limbano screeched and Erik jumped just out of reach of a croc that snapped its powerful jaws missing him by inches. He lifted his body and scrambled over to Klaue. The croc lingered for a moment before drifting back down into the water.

Voices.

Much closer. Perhaps a half a mile away.

Erik could face prison time, torture, and death in an African nation that would never care to find his people, or he could try to outswim an ancient cousin of dinosaurs. Choices.

"Fuck it," Klaue said rolling himself back into the Zambezi with a soft plop. Erik searched the water for the crocs. If Klaue's arm was working properly, they could use him for protection. He was useless. Especially with a busted ankle.

"We gotta keep quiet and slip away. No sudden splashing. The croc will ignore us…maybe," Erik said.

Limbano slipped in without hesitation. He had been to prison in West Africa before. Facing a croc was a piece of cake apparently. Iverson was the only holdout.

"I think we should stay here," Iverson said, lifting himself higher into the reeds.

"Suit yourself," Erik said.

Iverson sat up and a cell phone fell out of his fatigue's side leg pocket. Erik reached over and snatched it up.

"You said you lost your phone in the river," Erik said checking the status on the fold-up cell.

"Klaue," Erik said. He tossed the cell to the man who caught it.

Klaue glanced at the phone, then over at Iverson.

"Coordinates, mate? This is all your doing?" Klaue asked.

"I thought I lost it…those…those are just coordinates to help get downriver—"

"Stop," Erik said.

Iverson was part of the crew out to get Erik and Klaue. Iverson was a pawn.

Klaue gave Erik a look. Erik nodded at him before his arms shot out and grabbed Iverson dragging him into the water.

"Don't! Wait a minute-!"

Erik ignored Iverson's pleas and shoved his head down into the river water. After ten seconds he lifted the man back up. Iverson thrashed wildly, and Erik positioned his arms and hands on the man to calm him.

"Chill, Iverson. We just want to know who put you up to this," Erik whispered in his ear.

"No one put me up to anything—"

Erik twisted the man's head, breaking his neck.

"Croc!" Klaue shouted. Erik pushed Iverson's limp body into the maw of the river beast and the three of them pushed away from the reeds to put distance between themselves and the feeding frenzy that the croc was enjoying shredding Iverson's flesh and bones before it dipped below the surface with the remains.

###

Exhaustion held him in a twilight of life and death. All three men floated on their backs as the current carried them downriver once more. For once in his life, Erik thought he might actually fail. So much of his plans depended on keeping Klaue alive, that Erik forgot that he had to stay alive himself.

Clutching onto Klaue's arm and helping the man stay afloat, Erik considered letting him go. Surrounded by killers, crocs, and deadly hippos, Erik contemplated swimming to shore and just walking out of the bush. He could very well blend into an African population. His picture wasn't the one plastered on wanted posters. They wanted two white men from South Africa.

"Shit."

Erik's thoughts distracted him and he had let go of Klaue for a second. The man's eyes were so done. Erik made the decision to go back to the bank and find a place to hide in the bush. The river would kill them all if they stayed in the swirling vicious waters. He grabbed for Klaue again to help the man focus. Limbano helped him and they finally made it on dry land just as dawn was breaking. They didn't even know what country they were in, losing all sense of direction after being in the river all night.

Erik rolled over onto his back closing his eyes tight.

Rest.

That's what he needed.

His body gave into complete exhaustion and right before he drifted away, he thought of Yani. His eyes caught the shimmery light of the new day's sun and when it struck the river, his bone-weary mind created a mirage of her, swimming nude in the Zambezi river, beckoning for him to follow her. That sly smile on her lips, the sway of her hips, the jiggle of her backside held him in a peaceful dreamlike state as his body slowly powered down.

Goddess, that was the nickname Tahir had given Erik's woman. There she was, swimming in the swirling murky river water, breasts still full from the milk she carried for their daughter. He smiled at the thought. Name it and claim it. Sydette was his. No one could tell him different.

Voices again.

Closer.

They weren't going to make it. Klaue was too far gone with his leg. He and Limbano were too tired to fight off anyone, limbs water-logged and limp.

"You're not ever coming back, are you?"

Her last words to him.

He struck the damp earth with his right fist. He had let that girl down. Gave her false hope by letting her see his face, and now he was never going to see her again.

His eyes drifted back to the river and the sun pierced his retinas, burning the sight of her back again. She was still there, his Yemanja, hands still waving toward him.

"Baby…" he whispered before blacking out.

###

"Killmonger…"

Erik shot straight up, Yani's voice in his ear.

Eyes darting around, he saw Klaue and Limbano passed out on the bank near him. He checked his watch. Four hours. He had been out for four hours. Yani's voice woke him up. It sounded like her lips were right near his ear as if she had been sleeping next to him and wanted him to wake up suddenly.

Jumping up, Erik took a moment to listen for the noise of his would-be captors.

Quiet.

The silence unnerved him, but he had to take a chance and go look for help in escaping. He left Klaue and Limbano behind and trudged through the bush. He found a well-traveled road and before he could hide, a Range Rover pulled up.

"Hey!" The driver said. For a split-second Erik almost ran, but he recognized the driver. He was a ranger that Klaue had introduced him to back at the hotel they stayed in Botswana. Shit, they were back on the side of the river and country they had started from.

"Looks like you've been swimming my friend," the driver said. Tim. That was his name.

"Yeah, wasn't by choice though. Can you give me and my friends a ride back to our hotel? We have money," Erik said.

"Hop in!"

"Give me a few minutes," Erik said.

Tim pulled the Range Rover over and waited.

"Where have you been?" Klaue said when he saw Erik running like a mad man back to the river's edge.

"Let's get the fuck outta here," Erik said lifting Klaue up and helping him keep weight off of his bad foot. Limbano assisted him and it didn't take long to make it back to the Range Rover.

Sitting in the back of the vehicle, knowing that disaster was averted, he couldn't help but think of Yani and Sydette. His vision of Yani had woken him up and tried to keep him awake. He was convinced of this. There was no way beyond blind luck that he would have woken up in time to catch Tim out on the road. It could've been anyone driving, the police, another search party after them…but this guy who happened to know Klaue was the one to see him stumbling out from the bush. This was Yani's doing. Had to be. Whatever connection, whatever strong attachment he had made with her…her spirit woke him up.

She had saved him.

But because of Iverson and whoever pulled his strings, Erik couldn't go back to her. Not yet.

The scenery passed by from the backseat and he pressed his face against the glass. His eyelids squeezed tears out and he wiped them away before the other men saw them.

"Yani, I'm trying," he whispered into the glass before he fell asleep once more.

###

"Yani, mail!"

Leona called to her from the kitchen in the apartment. Fixing her work heels on her feet, Yani stepped into the kitchen. A small brown package with her name and address sat on the kitchen table. No return address, but the forever stamp was dated with markings from Brazil.

She opened the package being careful not to chip her nails. Work at the restaurant had been busy and she was making a lot of tips that allowed her to splurge on some nice things for herself like getting her nails done professionally. Since there was no more work at Klaue's compound, she could indulge in making herself pretty without fear of damaging the costly nail job.

"Your hair looks nice," Leona said.

"It doesn't look too weird straight like this?"

"Just different. And it's just slicked down, not really straight. I like the lines you cut in it too," Leona said touching Yani's scalp. Sydette sat in her high chair staring at Yani while her fingers stuck mashed bananas into her mouth from her Dora The Explorer bowl.

She wanted to try something new with her hair to try and perk up her spirits. New hairstyle. New nails. New work dress.

Soft purple tissue paper was encased inside bubble wrap. When she pulled it all out there were two blue velvet boxes and a small light blue envelope stuck to one of them. She opened the envelope and read the card inside. Her heart fluttered.

"Yani,

Another early birthday present for Sydette and something for you as well. Tell Sweet Pea I miss her too. And you. E.K."

Yani opened both boxes. Diamond earrings. Real diamond earrings. A mother and daughter set.

"Who send you that?" Leona asked staring at the expensive gifts.

"Killmonger," Yani whispered.

She clutched the boxes to her heart.

###

[Part 1]  [Part 2]  [Part 3]  [Part 4]  [Part 5]  [Part 6]  [Part 7]  [Part 8]   

[Part 9]

Tag List:

@fonville-designs​ @soufcakmistress  @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon  @thadelightfulone @allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky @raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514  @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling @chaneajoyyy @sweetestdream92 @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @hennessystevens-udaku @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz @stariamrry  @honeytoffee

[jordanianroyals]

6 February 2020: Crown Prince Hussein delivered the keynote address at the TechWadi Annual Forum 2020 in Silicon Valley, attended by 400 representatives of international ICT companies.

In his speech, he stressed that the ICT industry has the most impact on society, calling for putting people at the heart of technological progress. The Crown Prince highlighted what Jordan and the Arab world have to offer to ICT leaders in Silicon Valley. “You’ll need the right partners. Partners like my country, Jordan,” His Royal Highness told the attendees, noting that “Jordan is a safe, welcoming, and generous country.” His Royal Highness stressed that Arab youth are eager to help global ICT companies go beyond better communication among peoples to greater understanding. “Together, I believe we can help people understand one another and connect with one another,” the Crown Prince said.

This year’s TechWadi forum highlights how members of the ICT and entrepreneurial community can connect with and support each other on their journeys to develop their careers, grow their businesses, or move from the Middle East and North Africa to Silicon Valley or vice versa. TechWadi is an organisation established in 2006 as a technology community for Arab American tech leaders and business people, with the aim of highlighting the role of Arab youth in the ICT sector, and connecting entrepreneurs in the Middle East and North Africa with opportunities in Silicon Valley.

Following is the full text of the speech:

“In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful. Thank you, Sharif, and thank you to TechWadi for bringing us together. I know that, at first glance, it may seem that we come from different worlds. Mine is about public service, diplomacy and the military. Yours is defined by technology, innovation, and business. Thousands of miles and a vast ocean separate this stage and the place I call home. Yet, the connection between Silicon Valley and the Arab world is natural. After all, the Arab world is the original start-up garage. We developed modern algebra. We created the first algorithms. We invented Arabic numerals—but apparently Silicon Valley only needed ones and zeroes to change the world! You don’t need me to tell you that technology has transformed the world as we know it. And we know that with transformation can come trepidation. Certainly, that has been the case with technology. Whether the result of unintended consequences, unchecked power, or intentional abuse, your industry is now in crisis. You are grappling with the loss of the public’s trust and facing difficult questions. Where I come from, we know a thing or two about how to get through crises and make tough choices. We’ve weathered a financial crisis and regional instability. We are surrounded by conflict, and as a result, we’ve had a massive influx of refugees. Today, Jordan is one of the largest hosts of refugees in the world. We made a choice. We opened our borders. Did it make economic sense? Absolutely not. Our national debt grew, as did our rate of unemployment. Housing, food, energy, healthcare, education—all felt the pressure. We did it for a very simple reason: it was the right thing to do. For some, politics is about power. For us, it’s about people. But then, so is technology. In fact, technology has the most personal relationship with humanity. What you create may often be intangible, but its influence on our lives is anything but. And it is not just in how we conduct our every day; you are shaping individual perspectives and our collective conscience. You influence how people interact with one another, and how they feel about each other. Of all sectors, you have the most impact on society. So, you must ask yourselves: what happens if the industry that is shaping the future of the human experience doesn’t put humanity first? That is not a question anyone can afford to ignore. And so, we must put people at the heart of technological progress; look at the impact of products on society’s balance sheet; and pair profit with purpose. Let that be the next big tech trend: humanity. It is the right thing, and it is the smart thing. Today, as you well know, employees are demanding more than just a pay-check, and consumers want more than just another product. They want purpose. That is why the technology industry has a duty to upgrade and update our collective moral code—literally and figuratively. Don’t worry; I’m not an idealist. I don’t believe in prescriptive guidelines and solutions. And I know there is no one way to do this--no checklists, no predictable process, no “if this then that” rules. In fact, in my short experience, I’ve learnt that changing rules and laws is often the easy part. Changing mind-sets is challenging, but it is possible. It’s possible when great minds, like those gathered here, come together and decide to prioritise it. But first, you’ll need the right partners. Partners like my country, Jordan. Yes, here comes the pitch… Let me start by firmly breaking a stereotype: Jordan is a safe, welcoming, and generous country. My fellow Jordanians in the audience can attest to that. Better yet, you can come see for yourself. Yet, too often, the story of Jordan is hidden in the shadows of our region’s conflicts. The Middle East is home to some of modern history’s worst humanitarian crises. And peace has been painfully illusive. No one knows that better than my family. My grandfather, King Hussein, spent the final months of his life working for peace, and my father, King Abdullah, continues to fight with courageous diplomacy and leadership for a just and comprehensive peace. As he recently said, it is the harder but higher path. Our people need to imagine a different and better future. They are defined not by what has been, but by what can be. Particularly our youth, who are coming of age now. Not only do we have the world’s second-youngest population, but the share of the working-age population is at its highest now and will be for the next 20 years. This is a most promising period for our region. Our young, talented workforce is hungry for careers in technology. In Jordan alone, 22 per cent of college graduates today major in either engineering or information and communications technology. By partnering with us and with the Arab world, you’ll help us train young Arabs for the industries of the future. But you’ll also stand to gain. Silicon Valley needs coders, programmers, and engineers. And Arab coders, programmers, and engineers need jobs. The solution to both problems is clear—which is why so many tech giants are already expanding their presence in the Arab world, and, in turn, their reach into new, untapped markets. Today, Amazon and Microsoft run regional tech operations out of Jordan. Saudi Arabia is building a vibrant start-up ecosystem. And Egypt is partnering with IBM on digital transformation. Still, a partnership with our region can deliver much more. Take AI; we’ve all seen the headlines—how data is being used to reflect the worst of human biases back to us. The solution is not as simple as creating a more diverse data set, but rather building a truly diverse team. Or take Natural Language Processing. Arabic is the fifth most spoken language in the world, and the fourth most used language online. But for computers to understand Arabic, you need humans who speak it. The young women and men of the Arab world are eager to help and to go beyond better communication to greater understanding. Together, I believe, we can help people understand one another and connect with one another. As the Holy Quran teaches us: “O mankind. We have created you male and female, and appointed you races and tribes, that you may know one another.” We must know one another, because true progress cannot happen without people, and humanity can only move forward when we find new ways to work together. And we can. We are brave enough, and bold enough to invent any future we choose. Thank you.”

[cmhoughton]

Here is the text since I want folks to read this list without dealing with the paywall (although you have to read the article to get the source links at the end of the piece):

What Happened When a Trump Supporter Challenged Me About the Wall

I explained exactly why a wall won’t work, using conservative sources to prove it

Dec 27, 2018

A conservative challenged liberal Facebook friends to “make a case, not based on emotion” against Trump’s wall. Conservative buddies flooded his post with snide remarks about how this would be impossible for “deluded libs.”

“Okay, I’ll play,” I responded. To avoid being accused of bias, I explained that I would use only conservative sources to make my point. My primary source was a policy paper by the Cato Institute—a conservative, libertarian think tank—along with other conservative voices (listed below).

Here’s why I’m against the wall, I wrote:

1. Walls don’t work. Illegal immigrants have tunneled underneath and/or erected ramps up and down walls and simply driven over them. People find a way. When East Germany erected its wall, it created a military zone, staffed by booted, machine-gun carrying guards ready to shoot to kill. Yet thousands managed to make it to West Germany anyway. More to the point, do we really want to model ourselves after communist East Germany?

2. Most illegal immigrants are “overstayers.” They come to the U.S. legally—for vacations, jobs, schools, etc.—and then stay long past their visas. By 2012, overstayers accounted for 58 percent (the majority) of all unauthorized immigrants. A wall is meaningless here.

3. Walls have little impact on drugs being brought in to the U.S. According to the DEA, almost all drugs come in through legal points of entry, hidden in secret containers and/or among legit goods in tractor-trailers. A wall will have little to no impact on the influx of drugs into our country.

4. It’s environmentally impractical. Walls have a hard time making it through extreme weather. For example, in 2011, a flood in Arizona washed away 40 feet of steel fencing. Torrential rains and raging waters do serious damage. Also, conservative sources generally do not address the environmental harm that walls create, but there is plenty of documentation showing the potential for irreparable damage to both plant and animal life.

5. A wall would force the U.S. government to take land from private citizens in eminent domain battles. Private citizens own much of the land slated for the wall. The costs of the government snatching private land—and the legal battles that would ensue—are incalculable.

6. Border patrol agents don’t like concrete or steel walls because they block surveillance capabilities. In other words, they can’t mobilize correctly to meet challenges. So, in many ways, a wall makes their job more difficult.

7. Border patrol agents say walls are “meaningless” without agents and technology to support them. Are we prepared to pour countless billions annually—well after the wall is built—to create a nearly 2,000-mile militarized, 24-hour-surveillance border operation? Because according to patrol agents, that’s the only way a wall would work. Again, are we really going to use East Germany, a brutal communist state, as our model here?

Are we seriously going to model ourselves on East Germany and their wall?

8. Where barriers were built, there was little impact on the number of border crossers. According to the Congressional Research Center cited in the Cato report, after San Diego rebuilt a fence making it more wall-like—taller and more opaque—the structure “did not have a discernible impact on the influx of unauthorized aliens coming across the border” in the area. They simply came in elsewhere, primarily where natural barriers such as water or mountainous regions preclude a wall.

9. A wall has unintended consequences on other industries: For example, it blocks farmworkers from exiting when their invaluable seasonal work is done. Farmers are against the wall because it makes getting cheap seasonal labor almost impossible, as few American citizens want those jobs. And if seasonal workers do get in, a wall makes it harder for them to leave. It traps migrant farm laborers in our country.

10. Trump’s $5 billion is a laughable drop in the bucket for what would actually be needed. For example, according to the Cato Institute: An estimate for a border wall area that only covered 700 miles was originally $1.2 billion. How much did it cost in reality? $7 billion. And that’s only for 700 miles. Whatever we think it’s going to cost, experience shows us we must multiply it by more than 500 percent.

11. According to MIT engineers, the wall would cost $31.2 billion. Homeland Security estimates it at $22 billion. Given the pattern of spending mentioned in number 10 (plus Murphy’s Law), we’re talking about pouring endless billions into something that doesn’t even work. Of course, we taxpayers will be footing the bill, not Mexico. Given all the drawbacks, is this really the best use of our taxes?

As the conservatives of the Cato Institute put it, “President Trump’s wall would be a mammoth expenditure that would have little impact on illegal immigration.” It would also create many “direct harms,” including “the spending, the taxes, the eminent domain abuse, and the decrease in immigrant’s freedoms of movement.”

We must add, because conservative sources do not, that the environmental harms are likely to be severe.

In other words, the facts show that walls don’t work. Instead, they create even bigger, more expensive problems.

So what happened after I posted this conservative-sourced, fact-based list of why the wall is a bad idea?

Silence.

I waited for someone to respond, to engage with me. Where were the angry defenses or rebuttals? But when I searched for the post after a few days, I couldn’t find it.

My Facebook friend had deleted it. You could say, like Trump with the government, he shut me down rather than deal with the facts.

The ugly genius of Trump is his ability to manipulate deep, primal emotions—namely fear and hate. Along with Fox News, he has convinced his base that immigrants put them in “extreme danger” and only a wall will make them “safe.”

Unfortunately, their need to feel safe is much stronger than their will to grapple with a complex, multifaceted problem—a problem that will require serious engagement with complex policies to get at the root of it.

And so, here we are, paralyzed by shutdowns at every turn.

[honeygrip]

Untitled...

I haven’t written anything in a LONG time.

As cathartic as writing has always been for me, I grew fatigued by writing about bleak subject matter.

I staved off writing for as long as I could.

Today however, I felt this immense craving, it was time for me to say something.

I’ve been grappling with how to admit this, finding the right words to convey to the right “audience” of people who would be compassionate and nonjudgmental enough to understand, trying to come to terms with how in depth I wanted to go here with this subject matter altogether, because it is so personal to me. Because it is something, I’ve worked so hard to not have to acknowledge, and because I find most people really don’t “understand”.

Depression is not for everyone.

The Depression discussion isn’t for your casual acquaintances. Its not for your Facebook statuses. It’s not a conversation you want to have with your co-workers or your boss or your family or even your “closest” friends. It’s not an ice breaker. And It’s not how you reveal yourself charmingly in the early phases of a budding new relationship.

It’s not a dialogue you want to start when you’re unsure of how others are going to react. It’s not an exchange you want to engage in when you are anxiously terrified about what is happening to you but still polite enough to not want to worry anyone else around you.

I didn’t want to be babied. I didn’t want to be hospitalized. I didn’t want people to be afraid of me or worse- abandon me completely. There were times when I was scared for my life because I felt so hopeless. But in the next second, I would know, that I didn’t want to acknowledge that idea in any real way because once I did, I would be labeled and stigmatized.

ESPECIALLY WITHIN THE BLACK COMMUNITY.

And So, I isolated myself. It was time for me to put together a plan of action to save my own life. I reached out to my FB community very vaguely asking for help with finding a good (and affordable) therapist.

That was the easiest part of the last few months of my life. The QUEST that began to find a quality, licensed therapist inside of my network of shitty insurance who was taking new patients and wasn’t demanding all sorts of other large exorbitant payments from me on top of my copay was exhausting.

You’d think with all these health and mental wellness experts abound, that it would be easier-but it wasn’t. I am fortunate enough to have a decent paying job, and since I don’t directly benefit from any magical government subsidies, it seemed like it was harder to find adequate resources.

I was... NO, I am mentally ill. But since I haven’t had a complete mental breakdown, or done something so drastically dangerous to myself or someone else, I was... and am NOT considered- a high priority case.

I am a perfectly functioning adult, dying inside, right here in plain sight.

Truth is, I couldn’t afford a “mental breakdown” even if I tried. Although, a full on “mental breakdown” does sound glorious...

A few days locked up in a hospital, resting, highly medicated and regularly monitored actually sounds fucking delightful!

But I had life here, my beautiful 10 year old daughter, my bills and my commitment to my daily obligations to consider. If I stopped working, EVERYTHING in my life would stop working. That desperate realization alone was enough to keep going.

My pride and my misanthropic attitude made it difficult for me to find people “close” enough to talk to. It’s hard for me (personally) to ask for help. I understand everyone is busy, EVERYONE IS COPING. I’m an empath, so I already know this about other people and understand it well. I never want to be a burden to anyone. When you’re in the depths of a depression, like I was (I’m slowly coming out of it now) I wasn’t sure if I was really hitting bottom enough that I needed help. I just knew I was exhausted all the time, that my heart is completely broken and that I felt so stagnant that I just couldn’t figure out a good reason to go on.

I was so desperate. Something had to change, something had to stop, and it needed to happen quickly.

I couldn’t be fake about it anymore.

Couldn’t be preoccupied by a social life because I wasn’t living. I didn’t (still don’t) want to go out. I don’t want to be seen or social. And I didn’t want to let anyone in.

People say they are “always there” if you need them but they’re not. Especially when “there” is a dank, dark place that’s not particularly positive a majority of the time. So naturally, “Friendships” imploded.

Relationshits (not a typo) never existed to begin with.

I would get text messages occasionally that I couldn’t answer. I literally just could not (be bothered to) answer.

Some check-ins weren’t personal enough to tell them the truth.

Some were too personal to go into depth with.

If I tell you, I’m not doing too well and you press further (as a good friend would) how could I dance my way around delving deeper without offending you?

What about when I tell you and your response is as vague and generally unsupportive as some that I received...

I was at a complete standstill.

I didn’t and still don’t want prayers or positive mantras, suggestions on books to read, meditations to try. And Thank you!

But NO.

I needed definitive plans of action and new strategies to attack this and NO ONE could give me that but me.

Isolation is NOT good but I needed to be truly alone with myself. Not distracting myself with nonsense or nonsense people and not self medicating.

I thank God that I wasn’t truly suicidal, although some days, I wasn’t sure. For as hopeless as I felt, I was able to keep my wits about me for the most part, I was resilient enough to focus on getting into some sort of therapy and committing myself whole soul and heartedly to getting well.

My first few sessions with my therapist felt a bit pointless. I’d just sit here and talk and talk and talk. She’d say something wise, I’d cry like a blubbering lunatic and then she’d send me on my way.

My therapist was also adamant about me going to a psychiatrist and getting on medication. I was resisting because I didn’t want to admit that I needed antidepressants to be well and I also didn’t want to have to go back out on another QUEST to find another doctor in my network of shitty insurance who was taking on new patients and wasn’t going to charge me violent rates of $250-$350 an hour for a consultation.

Finding a psychiatrist in my network of shitty insurance took me another month and a half, which had me going to therapy wondering if it was ever going to work because I needed the 2 for 1 service to begin to feel relief.

I was suffering through insomnia every night. That tremendous pressure on my chest of wanting to cry but not being able to. Of wanting to breathe but not being able to, of wanting to STOP crying but not being able to.

Because I wasn’t sleeping, I’d be a zombie most of the day. So, I sleep whenever I can, and sometimes sleep comes when I should be the most present.

I’m checked out emotionally, mentally, physically and I hate everyone. Exhausted by frustration. When I tell my therapist I’m so tired, she always chastises me.

“You’re not “tired”- YOU’RE DEPRESSED.”

She tells me, I have to own it, not hide it.

And therefore, I am...

Although, I’m still not ready to “talk” about it. It’s become evident to me that I have to honor myself and my gift of writing by actually WRITING about it.

Writing and journaling is actually a part of my prescribed homework, even though I had sworn off writing about anything until I had found something happy or positive to talk about. Here I am—writing.

Writing from the deep beyond, the depths of heartbreak, in the midst of a self imposed Cold War. Little to no communication with the outside world. Rarely engaging with ANYONE, and releasing any guilt or shame I felt about not being social.

I hardly go on social media anymore, because it’s wildly triggering for me. I’ve blocked any relatively toxic person who could contact me. I live in an innocuous bubble of my personal daily routine.

What’s most peculiar is the randomness of the people who do reach out to me. Folks I don’t actually know, who DM’d me- “to check on me”. Those who still check in, no matter how sporadically I respond. Those truly understanding few who have left me alone completely and those who don’t AT ALL.

The longing in my heart for those I wish cared, the amount of time it’s taking me to sync the intellectual realities with my emotional fantasies or is it my intellectual fantasies with my emotional realities- at any rate- it fucking hurts knowing I’ve chosen- against my best self interest to care for people who do not care about me. And every so often, I get mad at myself for still even thinking about that fact.

There are things about myself and how I love and how I cope- that I am learning for the first time. There are new ways that I am learning how to love myself and understand myself for the first time as well. I’ve been on the precipice of all this before- but each time I discover how childhood traumas relate to present day wounds- and how they show up in my behaviors and I’m astounded in a new way.

I am reluctantly sharing all this because our people don’t talk about depression in the present tense. Most talk about it as if it’s something they’ve miraculously conquered but never as something they miraculously endure.

Depression may come to some in phases but it isn’t just a phase, and it’s okay to be depressed as long as you don’t give up completely. As long as you are seeking to find a way to conquer it, and not pretending your Cold War is over.

♥️

[phoenixsavant]

Manifest Destiny Chapter 2 : Convergence

You have a first date with the real Saeyoung. 

Co-written with @moonfireflight

(Chapter 1 here)

“After the branch?” Saeyoung asked, smiling slowly.  “I guess it is kind of a branch at this point.”  He grinned at you.  “So, did I get enough hearts to get the good ending?”

His grin was contagious, and took over your expression swiftly.  “I’m not sure.  There’s usually three branches to a path, right?  Day four, day 7, and day 10?”  

“You’re kidding.  So is this only day four?”

You laughed at his mock frustration.  “What, did you want to spend all your hourglasses and buy out the entire route at one time?”

Sliding quickly to a serious expression, Saeyoung replied, “Not at all.  I want to enjoy every day and wait to see what happens.”  

You blushed and looked away for a moment.  Those eyes were just too intense.  Your own wish to find out what would come next was just as intense.  Your mind was quickly catching up to accept that the red-head sitting on your couch with you was not a figment of your imagination.  Your hand still rested over his, and he’d made no move to withdraw from your touch.  The places where your skin touched felt like they’d been chased by lightning, prickly, warm, and full of anticipation.

“I should probably go soon, so you can take care of your groceries and stuff.  I…”  He suddenly looked uncertain and bit the corner of his lip.  “I came over to introduce myself, but also, I hoped that you might like to go out with me sometime.  On a date, I mean.”  

He hoped he didn’t look too eager, but he also didn’t want to let the opportunity pass.  Especially now that he’d seen her in person.  This was a girl that other men would be after.  If he waited, he could lose his chance.

You tried to keep your smile demure, but you were sure you were beaming. “I would like that, yeah.”

***

It had been a long day. Even though you could call each other through the game, the two of you exchanged phone numbers and made vague plans for a date this weekend. You stared at the entry in your phone. “Saeyoung Choi.” You read the name and numbers again, memorizing them.

Neither of you were sure what to do as he was leaving for the night. You’d only just met, but you felt like you’d known him a lot longer. What the hell is the protocol for meeting your game, uh, crush, in real life?

Saeyoung had hesitated for a moment and then darted in to kiss your cheek, blushing as he pulled away.  He didn’t want to kiss your cheek, but he felt so nervous being face to face with you at last, he wasn’t willing to try for more, yet.  He grinned as he saw you blushing, too.

Closing the door behind him, you leaned your back into the frame and stared into space trying to process what had just happened.  The guy you thought was part of a game showed up at your door, you fainted on him in a very literal sense, and now you were going to have a date with him!  What world had you fallen into?  This doesn’t happen, right?

You smiled, pushing away from the wall and wandering into your kitchen.  “Saeyoung Choi,” you whispered to yourself, testing the name on your tongue.  Your fingers rose to where he had kissed your cheek and you felt your face grow warm again.

While getting ready for bed, you found yourself in a bit of a daze, still thinking about the strange turn your life had taken. You were just about to silence your phone for the night when it dinged to indicate you’d received a new text, and then another.

“Thanks for giving me a chance.”

“Maybe we’ll meet again tonight in the world of dreams! ^^”

His cute message made you blush yet again. He really had a knack for making you do that. You thought about how reply. This was much harder when you didn’t preset options to choose from. After a moment, you decided to take a little bit of a risk and tapped out a message to him.

“Dreams would be wonderful, but…

I’m looking forward to seeing you in the real world again.”

Normally you weren’t this forward, but you couldn’t help yourself. Nervous energy percolated through you, erupting in giggles as you kicked your feet under the covers. That date had better happen.

Saeyoung called you the afternoon following his appearance at your door.  You tried, but failed, at not feeling like an excited teenager when you saw his name appear on your phone.  Hoping he wouldn’t hear all of the excitement, you answered, “Hey!  How’s it going?”  You cringed.  Why did you choose such a lame greeting?  

****

Saeyoung grinned.  He could almost hear the girl on the other end of the call trying to play it cool and failing.  He wondered if he could fluster her more.  That might be amusing, but moreso in person. He filed the idea under, “things to test in great detail at the earliest possible convenience” and responded, “Hi!  I’m good, how about you?”  

****

You exhaled in relief.  Alright, he wasn’t going to say anything about it, you could do this.  It’s just a phone call, right?  A phone call with a guy who was imaginary less than 24 hours ago, but still, just a phone call.  “Not bad.  What have you been up to today?”  

“Eh, hacking the pentagon again, distributing Microsoft’s codes for Office, nothing big.”  Saeyoung chuckled softly.

“Again?” you gulped.

“Well, they pay me to, so…”

“Oh, uh..”

****

Saeyoung waited a moment and then laughed.  “I’m kidding!  I’m kidding!  I am still at work, but it’s nothing so thrilling. I wanted to ask you about that date thing we talked about.”  He stopped and pulled the phone away from his ear, glancing at his reflection on the screen.  “Date thing?  Really dude?”  He shook his head and returned to the call.  “I just wanted to know if you’d really like to, go out with me, I mean.  Now that you’ve had time to think about it, that is.”  He rolled his eyes at himself.  This was not smooth.  This was not half so composed as his training had taught him to be.

****

“Did you have an idea?” you asked, your excitement transmitting through the airwaves before you could stop it.  “He meant it!  We’re going to have a date!”   

****

“How would you feel about a hike and a picnic?” he asked, almost rushing his words.  He hadn’t ever asked anyone out before.  This shouldn’t be so difficult though!  

****

“Oh!  I haven’t been hiking in a really long time.  I used to like it though.”  You paused, trying to remember the last time you’d been hiking.  At least six years had passed, but you still recalled the rustling of the trees, the cool breezes, and the clean air.  It was peaceful in the forest, quiet and calm.  It sounded like an invitation to heaven.  “Why don’t we?  When did you want to go?” you asked.

****

“Uh, well, are you busy on Saturday?” Saeyoung asked, relieved that he’d thought that far ahead before calling.  

****

“I am now!” you thought to yourself with a wide grin.  “I don’t have anything that has to be done, no.  Do you want me to meet you somewhere?”  

****

“Why don’t I just pick you up?  I can be there at 8, we’ll be able to get some hiking in before it gets too warm out.”

****

You cringed at being ready to go by 8 in the morning on a day off, but this wasn’t getting ready for work.  This was getting ready to spend time with Saeyoung!  You agreed readily.  The rest of the call was brief, idle chat about your days, before work called him away and you said goodbye.  

You squealed, clutching your phone tightly as you bounced off the couch and danced in a little circle.  You had a date!  Not just a date, but a date with Saeyoung!  You were still grappling with the fact that he was a real person, and here you were, going on a date with him!  

*****

Saeyoung took a deep breath, clutching his phone to his chest. “I did it! I got a date with her!” He exclaimed to the empty room.  His initial nervousness turned into joy, and he jumped up out of his chair, accidentally flinging it back into his desk, sending a few empty soda cans clattering to the floor. He jumped up, pumping his fist in the air with a “WAHOO!”. After a moment, he blushed, hoping no one else in the building had heard his sudden outburst. He sat back down and collected himself so he could focus on work again. Instead of slouching and staring at the monotonous lines of code, he hummed a tune and tapped his foot, happy and nervous.  Striking the enter key, he spun his chair in a full rotation.  Spinny chairs really were a job perk, especially in moments like these.

*****

Saturday morning you beat the alarm out of bed.  Shaking your head, you turned it off, thinking about how nice it would be if you could wake up so energized every day!  Today, today wasn’t just another day though.  Today was your date.  Your cheeks hurt from the smile that would not fade from your face, but you didn’t care.  Showering quickly, you stepped out and wrapped your hair in a towel.  You had picked out an outfit yesterday, but you found yourself digging through your closet again now that it was time to get dressed.  Blue, or green, red or yellow?  You could not bring yourself to decide which shirt to wear!  

You wanted to look nice, but you didn’t want to wear your best clothes for hiking, either.  Jeans were a must.  Hiking in shorts was asking for a fight with something spiky.  Thankfully, you had the perfect pair of jeans.  They curved over your hips and gently outlined your thighs, and you knew they made your ass look amazing.

Whatever shirt you wore had to look good with your hiking boots, which you had recovered from the darker recesses of your closet and brushed up a bit so they didn’t look quite as neglected as they had been.  The leather was a medium brown with darker brown accents.  That ruled out wearing black.  You tugged at your lower lip, as you flipped through the hangers in your closet.  No black shirts still left the entire rainbow to choose from.  It was not exactly helpful.  Then you saw it.

Hiding between a t-shirt from a concert and an oversized sweatshirt was a red gingham blouse.  The off-the-shoulder folds, imitating a half-unbuttoned dress shirt, were held up by simple straps.  The body was loose, breathable, and would tuck into your jeans without trouble.  You could show off your shoulders, look cute, and still be able to move properly while hiking.  It was perfect!  

You were finishing the last button before the suddenly emptied hanger stopped swinging.  Adjusting the straps, you grinned at your reflection.  This was easily a look that fell into the “classic” and “very cute” ranges, and always a safe bet when dressing to be with someone whose tastes you hadn’t learned yet.  You thought about a necklace or choker but decided to keep the accessories at a minimum.  This was hiking.  Things tended to go missing as if there were sprites in the forest who simply took all the shiny things they could as tribute for allowing humans to pass.  

After tying the long laces of the hiking boots, you brushed your hair and pulled it up into a half-ponytail.  Thinking again, you pulled out your hair tie and switched to a regular ponytail.  Your neck and shoulders were now completely exposed.  Biting your lower lip, you traced a line from below your ear to your collarbone.  Would he like this, you wondered? With a soft sigh, you saw that your watch was telling you that you were over an hour early in getting ready.  “Excited much?” you asked your reflection, before flipping off the light and heading to the kitchen.  With this much time free, you should probably find something to eat.

*****

Saeyoung found himself pacing around his house, unable to sit still, or even sit at all. He didn’t need to leave for at least an hour, but he was already dressed and ready to go. He’d picked up the same can of Dr. Pepper four times out of habit, flicking at the tab, narrowly resisting the urge to open it. He’d been up for almost an hour and had only had two so far. Being too hyper for their date would be bad. No more caffeine, you can do this.

He’d spent far too long debating what to wear. He started with the outfit he frequently wore at home - the same one he’d patterned his in-game avatar after. However, he wanted to show her other sides of himself. She probably assumed he was just a computer nerd who sat behind a glowing screen all day. Normally he’d be more than OK with that, preferring to hide how fit he was so that people would underestimate him.  However, that was the opposite of what he was going for today.

He eventually went with a dark gold, short sleeved shirt, a bit tighter than he was usually comfortable with, showing off his muscles without being gratuitous about it. His jeans fit like gloves down to the top of his thighs, where they tapered slightly out before falling in a straight line to cover the top of his tennis shoes.  He had thought about boots, but the boots he wore when he had to work in the field weren’t exactly fashion statements.  The only other shoes he had were dress shoes and that would never do for a hike, so, tennis shoes it was.  At least they were nice, he shrugged to himself.  When he looked in the mirror to fix his hair, however, he found he’d encountered his greatest challenge of the morning.

He stared at his reflection for a few moments, fiddling with the red fringe that was threatening to cover his eyes. There was no time to get professional help on this case, and imagining the aftermath if he tried to cut it himself made him cringe. He could part it, but that would probably last until the first gust of wind or stray branch met him. He would just hold onto the hope that the crimson disaster on his head was part of his apparent charm.

After several more minutes of pacing and fidgeting with his phone, reading her messages over again, he headed to his garage. He needed to calm his nerves and driving was always the best cure when he was feeling like this. He plotted out a very scenic route that would get him to her apartment at 8am on the dot, but also give him some relaxing time with his favorite car. He settled into the familiar bucket seat with a contented sigh. The purr of the engine energized him. He was ready. It was going to be a very good day, he was sure of it.

***

Even though you were already staring at your phone intently, the message that popped in at exactly 8am almost made you jump off of the couch.

    “Your chariot awaits, madame!”

The nervousness you’d nearly finished quelling was back in full force. You waged an epic battle with auto-correct before finally replying.

    “I’ll be right there!”

You grabbed the small, tan, mailbag style purse that had room for your phone and your wallet, but not much more.  It was perfect, you thought, for keeping things secured while not weighing you down. You checked your reflection one final time before grabbing your keys and opening the door.  

When you stepped outside, you looked out to the parking lot and saw Saeyoung waiting in a cherry red convertible with the top down.  You gulped.  “Oh god,” you thought to yourself, “He’s still hot.”  You waved before locking your door and slid the keys into your bag as you approached the car.  You took very slow, deliberate breaths, determined to keep your cool and not act like a complete idiot on sight.  It wasn’t easy though, with the way the wind moved his hair, the layers glistening in the sun as they shifted.

****

Saeyoung saw her step out of her apartment and his breath caught.  Her bare shoulders were smooth and beautiful.  She had dressed for hiking, which was a relief.  Not every girl understood how to do that.  He couldn’t take his eyes off the line of her neck, the gradual slope of her collarbone, the… She waved and his hand rose reflexively, mirroring the gesture.

“Easy there, buddy.  It’s just a date,” he mumbled to himself as she approached.  Realizing that she was walking toward the car, he hopped out and hurried around to open the door on the passenger side for her.

****

“Good morning!” you beamed at him as he opened your door.  You knew that you were beaming.  You also knew you couldn’t help that you were.  Maybe if you just went with it, you could avoid looking like a dork.  Your breath felt so tight though.  The instant his eyes met yours, you were certain you were going to faint again.

****

“Good morning!” he responded with a broad smile.  “You look great,” he said.  “Perfect for hiking!”  Inside his mind he thought “That was not the way to compliment her.”  

****

As you slid into the car, you tilted your head, looking to be sure you didn’t overshoot the seat.  No need to be a clutz.  “Thank you,” you replied, looking up at him.  “I haven’t been in forever.”  

****

He noticed that right above her collarbone, her pulse jumped rapidly beneath her skin.  She looked calm, but her heart was racing.  On the one hand, he wanted to reach out and touch that leaping spot.  On the other, he was just relieved that she was clearly nervous as well.  Not being the only one who was excited and nervous this morning was something he could work with.

****

Conversation flowed much easier between the two of you once you got on the road.  You were happy that you decided to put your hair up in a ponytail.  You hadn’t ridden in a convertible before, and while they looked luxurious, you understood why women wore scarves in them.  The wind felt wonderful, but would have made a mess of your hair.

You were also impressed by his skill at the wheel. He seemed to navigate traffic effortlessly and he looked like he was truly at home in the driver’s seat. Before long, you’d realized you were doing most of the talking. He prompted you with questions about your life, your hobbies, and your work, responding with interest and the occasional joke. You weren’t used to someone taking such interest in the mundanities of your life, and it was nice. While sometimes it was hard to hear each other over the rushing wind and the hum of the engine, he still kept you smiling the whole way.

“We’re here,” Saeyoung announced, slowing the car.  The steep incline of the mountain road had smoothed as he drove into a valley.  The shoulder of the road grew wide again and he eased to a stop where the road gave way to grass.  Putting up the top before leaving the car, he rounded the front and opened your door for you.  Once the car was locked, he retrieved a cooler from the trunk, grinning.

“One picnic, as promised!”

“Oh good!” you teased.  “I hoped we weren’t going to have to scavenge for nuts and berries!”

“Well, if you prefer those, I could help you.”  He patted the side of the cooler.  “I’m eating what’s in here, though.”  

You laughed a little at his comment, earning a grin and a wink from him.  Saeyoung took your hand as he led you away from the car.  The cooler had a handy strap, allowing him to carry it across his body and keep his hands free.  He had said it would be off-trail hiking, but you hadn’t thought he meant away from a park or any other starting point.  The hiking boots were, indeed, a good choice!

“I like to come out here when I can,” Saeyoung was explaining as he led the way into the tall trees.  “There’s rarely anyone else around.  The main parts of the parks are always so crowded and noisy.  This way, we don’t have to deal with other people.  We might see the deer, too.  They don’t go around the busy places, either.”

“Deer?  You mean, real, wild deer?”  You couldn’t remember seeing deer before.

“Mhm,” he nodded, smiling back at you.  “There’s a little herd that shows up sometimes where we’re going to have our picnic.”  

“Oh wow!  That would be amazing!  I hope they show up!” you exclaimed.

“We’ll have to be quiet, if they’re going to, though.  I’ll tell you when we have to start watching for them.”

You walked with him, asking questions about his experiences hiking and camping.  It turned out that he hadn’t hiked much until he went to college.  Chicago was better for swimming and small scale attempts at surfing on Lake Michigan, than it was for camping and hiking.  The college he attended in New York was near a popular park and his dorm mate convinced him to go along.  He went often with a group from school after that, and admitted to having had daydreams of moving into a forest on more than one instance.

You noted, as the walk continued, that he was deliberately taking routes that while sometimes wound more, had more level ground.  He was taking it easy on you.  It made you smirk a little to yourself because you were reasonably certain that you could keep up with him.  None of the terrain you’d covered was harsh.  The ground slanted gently, with intermittent spaces where it was only marginally steeper than the rest of the walk had been.  You couldn’t take offense though.  It was sweet that he was being so considerate.  

The trees didn’t part or thin, so much as they stopped.  Beyond them, you stepped, blinking, into the sunlight with Saeyoung.  Your eyes adjusted rapidly to a wide, grassy bank that ran along a clear stream.  The water churned and bubbled over larger rocks that were worn smooth by the constant flow.  On the far bank, a fallen tree lay, the submerged end forcing the water to flow over and around it in glittering ribbons.  The deeper places, where the water ran more smoothly, revealed the clarity of the stream, allowing you to see to the bottom of the streambed.  

“Oh!  Saeyoung!  It’s beautiful!” you gasped.

****

Saeyoung watched her face as he led her out of the trees.  He’d been here so many times, but always alone.  He had never brought anyone to this place of quiet reflection.  Mostly, he came here to do what his brother called “moping,” when he became depressed or dissatisfied with life.  She didn’t know that, of course, but he couldn’t think of any place he’d rather have brought her.  From the instant he set eyes on her, he wanted to bring her here, to his own little sanctuary.  She didn’t have to know what it meant to him just now. He knew, and that was enough.

When her face lit up, he knew he’d been right.  She could see and appreciate the beauty of this scene.  She looked enraptured as she surveyed the stream.  He was entranced by the beauty of her, standing there beside him, completely immersed in his little slice of heaven.  Had she always been what was missing when he came here before?  Was it because she wasn’t with him that he sometimes left feeling dissatisfied and uneasy?

She turned to face him and he couldn’t look away.  The sun brightened her eyes and struck someplace deep inside him.  He wanted, in that exact moment, to put his arms around her and never let her be anywhere but at his side.

****

You had started to ask how Saeyoung had found this place, but the look in his eyes stole your words.  You felt your face flush, and looked away quickly.  If you’d suddenly found yourself standing naked before him, you’d have felt less surprised at the nameless something you sensed in the way he watched you.

****

The moment broken, he said, “I’m glad you like it.  I thought this would be a good place for the picnic, and to give you a break from the hiking.”  

You noticed that he sounded suddenly more shy than he had only a few minutes ago, and wondered why.  Looking back up at him, you saw his golden brown eyes fixed on the stream before you.  “It’s perfect!  I don’t really need a break, but does that stream feel as good on bare feet as I think it does?” you asked.

He laughed, leading the way again, still holding your hand.  “Even better than you think it does!” he declared.

Dropping the cooler at the side of the stream, Saeyoung began to shed his shoes and you followed his example.  With your pant legs rolled up, you tested the water with your toes.  It was frigid!  You were relatively certain you’d had ice water that was less cold!  With a squeak, you danced back to the safety of the bank.

Saeyoung was already standing in the stream, water pouring over his exposed ankles.  He looked at you in surprise.  “You didn’t want to come in?” he asked, confused.

“It’s COLD!” you exclaimed.

“It’s a stream, in the mountains,” he explained, sticking his tongue out at you.

“I didn’t know it was going to be so cold though,” you pouted a little.  

“Just come on in,” he urged you, grinning in amusement.  “It’s not as bad as it feels.  I bet your feet are just warm from the hike down here.”  

You watched as he kicked a foot playfully, casting droplets of water into the air.  Chewing your lip you approached the stream again.  Cold feet were miserable, but you weren’t about to be outdone.  With a sharp breath, you stepped into the stream.  Saeyoung held his hand out to you again, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you took it, allowing him to steady you as you found your footing.  

Thankfully, the cold ceased to be as sharp as it had been during your initial test.  The steady flow of the stream was soothing and energizing at the same time.  You watched as Saeyoung wiggled his toes under the surface of the stream like a boy in a mud puddle.  It was adorable, endearing, and a little unexpected.  You weren’t sure when, but you stepped closer to him, your arm pressing against his.

The warmth of his skin contrasted with the cold water of the stream.  It felt so comfortable, so natural to be there with him.  You felt your head drift toward his shoulder, wanting to lean into him more fully.  He tensed, and you wondered if perhaps he wasn’t so sure about you yet.  As you stood, you considered going back to the banks.  

****

“Why did I do that?” Saeyoung asked himself.  She had tried to rest her head on his shoulder and he froze.  He’d watched her step into the water, raptly observing the way the water parted to allow her to come and stand with him.  She’d taken his hand so easily, without any hesitation.  He was kicking himself for ruining the moment when he looked down and saw their fingers still entwined.  A soft smile turned his lips up at the edges.  Okay, maybe it wasn’t ruined entirely.  

****

“Hungry?” he asked.

“I suppose I could eat a little,” you replied, looking up at him.  “We should probably leave the water too, before our toes turn blue.”  

“My toes aren’t blue,” Saeyoung laughed.  “See?”  He kicked a foot up out of the water, splashing your leg.

“Oh! Hey now!” you squealed, dancing away.  The instant you could, you turned and scooped water back at him.  He’d gotten your leg with a few drops of water.  You were not so merciful.  You sloshed as much as you could at him.

****

“What!?” Saeyoung called, startled as his pant leg was suddenly wet enough to cling to the side of his calf.  Looking up, he saw his date laughing and hopping up onto the bank of the stream.  She’d made a critical error though.  She was still holding his hand.  Saeyoung’s fingers tightened and he pulled her back into the water.  An arm shot out to keep her from falling completely into the stream, but he wasn’t going to go unavenged.  As she kicked and squealed, he allowed her antics to get her pants as wet as she’d gotten his.  The flip side was, his became more soaked the more she kicked.

****

You squirmed, laughing, until you freed yourself.  You knew your pants had gotten wet, but hadn’t realized that you’d managed to get Saeyoung’s as well.  The two of you made your way out of the stream, laughing.  It was worth it.  You loved his laugh.  It came up from deep in his chest, bubbling forth and spilling out to surround you.  You decided to make him laugh as often as possible, just to hear it again.

Once on the shore, he opened the cooler, unfolding a large tablecloth from the top.  Hidden within were containers with grapes, sliced apples, cubes of cheese, and crackers.  He pulled out a bottle of water and one of a yellow drink, offering both.  

“Water or lemonade?” he asked with a slight tilt to his head.

“Ooh!  Lemonade sounds wonderful!”  You took the bottle and unscrewed the lid, hearing a slight hiss as you did.  Looking over at Saeyoung with a questioning expression, you paused.

“It’s fizzy, like a soft drink,” he grinned proudly.  “I made it myself.”  

Curious, you opened the bottle and tasted the contents.  The tartness of the lemonade danced across your tongue as the carbonation fizzed against your palate.  It was a new experience, having lemonade that acted like a soft drink, but it was good!

“You like it?” he asked, watching your taste test with interest.

Nodding, you replied, “It’s really good.  I wouldn’t have thought of making it this way.  What was the inspiration?”  

Saeyoung laughed softly.  “I wish I had a great story, but I was bored and experimenting.”  

“Well,” you grinned, “here’s to experimenting!”  

As you shared the meal, you each kept your legs out in the sun, drying your pants in the warm morning light.  Saeyoung laid back, an arm crooked under his head, listening to you tell of family picnics.  You were glad he wasn’t watching you when you began to reach forward to play with his hair.  You yanked the wayward appendage back and flopped down on your back, folding your hands over yourself.  

****

Saeyoung saw her hand reach forward and then yank back from the corner of his eye.  Why had she stopped? he wondered.  When she laid down he caught the faint color in her face and grinned.  She was still uneasy, but that was alright.  He was too.

****

You asked about his past, wanting to know more about this red headed surprise who had turned your world on end.  At first, his responses were slow, almost hesitant.  With a little prying though, you got him talking more about his family and his life before you.  He had always been a bit of a prankster, it turned out, and he had you laughing hard enough to pull tears from your eyes as he recounted some of his more audacious stunts.

You realized that you were holding his hand again, as he spoke.  When had that happened?  It was as if you each were suffering from hands that were determined to remain together and notify their owners of the fact later.  

It wasn’t until he turned on his side, looking at you quietly, that you started to feel that shy sense of needing to hide again.  There was nowhere to hide though.  There was this open space, the quiet of the forest, the warmth of the sun seeping through your exposed skin, and his eyes with their gentleness and questions unasked.

Suddenly he put his finger over his lips, cautioning you to be quiet.  Nodding toward the stream, he signaled you to look.  You sat up slowly, and skirting the edge of the trees you saw a doe and fawn looking nervously toward the stream.  She didn’t let her young one pass her, clearly unwilling to approach while humans were so close.  Their movements were so graceful and beautiful though, you covered your mouth to avoid gasping and frightening them away.  

Saeyoung tapped your shoulder.  He had already packed the picnic back up and motioned toward the trees.  You stood slowly, backing away while he shoved the cloth back into the cooler.  Together, you walked into the trees, turning to see the doe approaching the stream carefully as the fawn danced along behind her.

****

When she looked at him, Saeyoung thought he might not breathe again.  Her eyes were full of wonder, having seen the deer.  Her smile was wider than any he’d seen all day.  Every aspect of her relayed excitement that could break free in an instant.  Had he thought her stunning when she saw the stream?  If so, she was now entrancing, a forest spirit come to greet him.

He looked away sharply, kicking himself for staring like that.  Moving quickly, he headed back uphill toward the car.  

“We should head back,” he called to her.  “Keep up though, I …”  He cut himself off.  He had almost said, “I don’t want to lose you again.”  

****

You were a little startled at how brusquely he spoke, but he didn’t seem angry.  Confused, you followed him.  Aside from this one moment, this entire date had been pure magic so far.  Saeyoung was smart, funny, strong - you’d noted that well when he was holding you in the stream - and attentive.  You felt a little odd, not holding his hand, and that startled you.  How could you feel odd about not holding his hand so quickly?

You knew the answer.  Whether you’d met because of the game or not, you were crazy about him.  Spending time with him in person only made the way you felt grow stronger.  You didn’t want to go back to the car, truthfully.  You wanted to spend the rest of the day with him, and maybe the next several days.

An idea had been brewing incessantly in your mind as you trailed along behind him. You were afraid it might be too silly, but you couldn’t help yourself any longer. You shushed the part of your mind that accused you have having ulterior motives. Maybe you’d just wanted to hear him laugh again, or to play around a bit more before you left this beautiful place. Either way, the idea wouldn’t leave you be. Besides, you weren’t worried about getting lost as you could see his car and the road off in the distance. Breaking into a jog, you closed the few steps to catch up with Saeyoung.  

You tapped him on the shoulder and blurted, “tag, you’re it!” and dashed past him before glancing over your shoulder to see if he was following. He wore a look of surprise and amusement, but was already starting to pick up speed.

“Are you going to let me catch you that easily?” he taunted, rapidly shrinking the distance between you. You took the bait and started running through the forest at full tilt while laughing wildly. In all honesty, you didn’t think you’d mind at all if he caught you, but decided to give him a challenge.

“Catch me if you can,” you shouted, while deftly winding between the trees. From the sound of his boots crunching on the pine needle carpet of the forest, he was still gaining on you. Your heart was pounding and not just from the physical exertion.

He returned your challenge. “Oh, I will. Don’t worry.” The teasing tone of his voice made you shiver. Your mind was racing, imagination running wild. This game was far more exhilarating than you’d expected. A thud behind you told you he’d let go of the cooler, showing how serious he was about catching up to you. He was getting even closer, and would catch you any second.  You ducked behind a tree, bracing your hand on the trunk as you spun to change direction and dodge the steps you heard right behind you.

Just a few steps later you were halted in your tracks by strong arms wrapping around your waist from behind, nearly lifting you off your feet. Laughter filled the forest from both of you, then trailed off as you both realized the position you were in. He hadn’t let go of you yet, and you were acutely aware of the hard planes of his chest pressing against your back and his breath tickling at your ear.

****

His arms were finally around her.  Saeyoung breathed in the scent of her hair as if it were oxygen.  He’d wanted to hold her like this all day, he only lacked the certainty to do so.  And now, now she was his prize, chased and caught.  His heart raced, pounding hard against his breastbone.  It wasn’t the running that made it speed so wildly.

He was going to hold her like this forever.  There had never been anyone he’d met that made him feel this way.  He was captivated by everything about her.  He couldn’t help himself.  His head began to move, his lips reaching toward the exposed shoulder before him.  Catching himself, he let her go and stepped back uncertainly.

****

After a few tantalizing moments, he suddenly let go and stepped away, as if afraid he’d overstepped. You turned, grinning at how flustered he looked. His hair was a mess, and a blush that almost matched it tinted his cheeks. However, the dark look in his eyes, his slightly parted lips, his chest heaving with heavy breaths, all told another story. Neither of you were ready for the moment to end.

You took a confident step forward and placed your hands on his chest, gazing up into his shining golden eyes. Being this close to him was intoxicating. This was the first time you’d noticed the subtle cologne he was wearing, and it blended perfectly with the scent of pine that lingered on him. The dappled sunlight that made it through the trees played along his hair, making it shine. His striped glasses had slid down his nose a little from running through the woods. He was so handsome and endearing, you couldn’t take it.

You smiled up at him shyly, leaning towards him ever so slightly, hoping he’d understand your invitation. He seemed startled at first, but slowly his hands drifted up to your arms, bringing you even closer together. You could hardly breathe, feeling like you were at the edge of a cliff.

At last, his lips brushed against yours, warm and sweet. As gentle as it was, it was utterly electrifying. You felt like a circuit was finally completed. The quiet sounds of the forest faded away entirely, as all you could hear was your heartbeat and the two of you breathing. His movements were halting, as if he was still afraid to scare you away, making your heart ache, and leaving you desperately wanting more of him.

That wouldn’t do. You decided that needed to know how you felt about him without a doubt. You let your arms wrap around his body, fingers dancing along the muscles of his back, holding him close to you and deepening the kiss. Saeyoung’s nervousness melted away at last, and he returned your embrace, one hand finding its way to the nape of your neck, slender fingers gripping at you to keep you in place. Not that you would have wanted to escape this. When his tongue teased at your lips, you opened yourself to him, moaning into his mouth. This kiss, the emotions and desire coursing through you, were so much more than you’d hoped for and put even your overactive imagination to shame.

****

Saeyoung thought he might melt right on the spot.  Her lips were as warm, soft, and inviting as they promised to be.  He had meant only a small kiss, not wanting to press for more, but she’d so clearly responded and asked for more.  With her willingness expressed, he felt as if someone had unchained his heart and mind.  He wanted to devour her with both, to be devoured by hers.

****

He suddenly broke the kiss, smirking at you, eyes full of lust. Still locked in an embrace, he stepped forward, urging you backwards until you gasped as your back made contact with a large tree. He fell upon you again instantly, one hand on the bark next to your head. His other hand came to rest on your bare shoulder, thumb tracing circles along your collarbone. You were glad you’d chosen this shirt, finding you very much enjoyed being so exposed before him.  The bark of the tree scraped against the back of your shoulder as his lips wandered over yours before finding the underside of your jaw.

Your breath came in heavy gasps and you clung to his shoulders, pulling him more tightly against your body as you fought to find some way to keep your head.  When his teeth grazed against your neck, your fingers curled tightly, digging into his shirt.  It was the last physical sensation you could differentiate as fire erupted through your veins and you whimpered beneath his overwhelming presence.

****

Saeyoung was fighting for control he didn’t want to keep.  When she whimpered, he nearly lost all hope of it.  His teeth found the tenderness of her shoulder and closed forcefully.  His mind filled with images of her clothing cast aside so he could feel her body against his.  His hand pressed against the trunk of the tree, letting the edges bite into his palm and keep him sane despite the complete absence of sanity that he felt beside her.

****

You pulled your grip free of his shirt and reached down, tracing your fingers beneath the fabric and up to his chest.  You felt the rumbling inside him as he groaned and turned to take his lip between your teeth before sucking softly on it.

A single, horrible, eruption of noise shattered the forest.  Saeyoung jumped back, pivoting sharply on one foot and looking around, frantic.  His arm was held out before you protectively.

From your hazed mind, it took a moment to realize what it was.  A truck passing by on the road had laid on the airhorn.  You didn’t know why, you and Saeyoung were still far enough in the trees to be hidden.  It was the most horrible timing possible, though.  The intoxicating moment had been crushed under the weight of the abrupt blast.

Saeyoung turned back to you and your face felt like it was going to turn a very bright, permanent shade of red.  He blushed as well and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.  

“I, uh, I guess we should get back to the car,” he said.

You weren’t wanting to go back to the car, but the moment was gone.  You reached forward though, and took his hand in yours.  “If you want,” you smiled, leaning against him.

Saeyoung gulped audibly and turned, not letting go of you, leading you back up to the car.

[varun-krishnan]

Are you bored...?

    Boredom. A word that evokes many images and almost all of them bad. Why is that? Our society views boredom as a disease which must be instantly treated when caught. I remember how quickly my dad tried to find something for me to do when I came moping up to him to complain about my boredom. Even now if my younger sister comes up to me and says, she's bored I instantly try to list a slew of things she can do, desperately trying to cut off the progress of the infection as quickly as possible. In fact, our society has invented a vaccine for boredom, a preventative measure called the cell phone that injects novelty in our lives the exact instant we feel even a trickling of boredom arising within us. It's incredible how fast people pull out their phones the minute a webpage loads too slowly, the second a text gets boring, the millisecond a conversation stalls. Going out every night, or joining a frat, or watching Netflix, or scrolling through Instagram, or...the list goes on. It seems so much of our actions are as much as a distraction as they are an escape from boredom. Why are we so afraid of being bored? Why do we feel the need to be continuously bombarded with newness? Whenever I get bored I instantly get the feeling I'm doing something wrong. After all, you only have a certain amount of time on this planet, shouldn't you try to make sure you at least aren't bored during it? Shouldn't you try to be maximizing your time before your ever-dimming flame of life is blown out? I guess from that angle it's genuinely scary being bored. It's scary to think that you are misspending life by being bored instead of doing something...doing anything even if it is just pulling out your phones to scroll past a blur of images. Because the alternative is just too frightening.

    Almost the same worry arises with unhappiness. It's extremely difficult not to feel that when you are unhappy, you are doing something wrong with your life. And maybe that's why boredom is as terrifying as it is. Because boredom is almost always followed by unhappiness. So should our life just be constantly trying to outrun boredom for as long as we can? And what if we trip on a snag in the road and the feeling catches up to us? The road of life is full of cracks and divots, and it's almost inevitable you're going to stumble at least once. What then? Did you do something wrong if you're lying on the ground and boredom envelops you? Are those moments when you're struggling to get back up moments where you are wasting life? I guess the answer is those moments are what you want them to be. If the moment you feel unhappy, or the moment you feel bored you fervently tell yourself that you are failing to enjoy life, then those moments will genuinely be failures to you. It's tough to see what Cool contributes to this discussion. Because it's hard to argue that Cool relishes boredom or implores you to seek out. After all, a huge critique Cool has on our modern culture is how boring everyone and everything has become. Not only the monotonous cycle of studying and working but the predictability across songs, movies, or even people. And yet, I don't think Cool seeks to eradicate boredom out of our lives either. Because, like unhappiness, Cool sees boredom as not only inevitable but also a chance to reflect and grow. So I guess the distinction is being boring vs. being bored. The former Cool vehemently opposes, but the latter Cool realizes the importance of. But what I can't wrap my head around is if Cool advises you to seek out boredom. Just like I don't understand if Cool suggests you seek out unhappiness. I can comprehend Cool's stance on preexisting boredom or unhappiness as vehicles for growth, but I'm not sure if it preaches to actively seek those feelings out. I mean one of the pillars of Cool is hedonism, right? And it seems like you are taking a sledgehammer to the pillar if you simultaneously advocate the pursuit of unhappiness as well as pleasure. But I guess that's the paradox of Cool, and one that I think is an incredible barrier for anyone seeking to become cooler. Who would want to follow a philosophy where you are to endeavor for unhappiness or boredom especially if you're not already feeling those sentiments? It seems extremely counterintuitive.

    For me at least, I find it extremely hard to remain bored. Next time you're eating with someone just try and sit there with neither party saying anything. It's uneasy, uncomfortable and almost impossible to remain in that delicate state for too long without someone either pulling out there phone or saying something. And I guess this phenomenon might be part of the answer to a question we posed at the beginning of the semester: Why are more people not Cool? Because in Cool you have to actively grapple with the feeling of boredom instead of distracting yourself from it. I mean think about how many opportunities there are for boredom to arise during a long walk or lengthy reading. And this time there is no pulling out your phone. You have to deal with the feeling of boredom, learn how to lasso it in, and keep the knot around it tight. Like many things in Cool, it really does take a lot of effort. A lot of effort to be content with boredom, to view it as a shadow that will always follow you no matter how often you pretend its not there. For boredom is a passenger with everyone but while most people stiffly ignore it, Cool turns around and shakes its hand. It's much easier to drink so much that you know you'll never be bored during a party. Much easier to join a frat so you know you'll never be bored during college. Much easier to constantly be on your phone so you know you'll never be bored during life. It's much harder, however, to spend your time riding a bike down a dusty sidewalk or taking the paintbrush to a canvas even if it means occasionally being in the unsettling but important position of being bored.

    I want to end this post by trying to understand the boredom in my own life. Because being premed means a lot of time being bored. And I guess my question is, is this boredom any different from the boredom that might arise during taking a walk or writing a book? Is this boredom any different from the boredom that Cool seeks to embrace rather than eliminate? I don't know, but my intuition is yes, it is different. The boredom that Cool tolerates is boredom that occurs during the seeking of pleasure. Cool's okay with the sporadic boredom when you're, say, composing a song but is more critical with consistent and routine boredom that is an indication that something is wrong in your life. And maybe that's why its so hard to resist going to your phone or striking up a random conversation when you're studying. Maybe that's why workplace drama and pranks are so rampant. Because we're trying to distract ourselves from an entrenched boredom that is so deeply saturated in our culture that we must constantly distract ourselves from it. Because if you truly didn't alleviate the boredom that comes with pulling an all-nighter studying or working a desk job you hate, then you wouldn't be able to continue those activities much longer. And society needs you to continue to activities. So cue the omnipresence of the cell phone. So I guess I'm kind of contradicting what I said earlier because boredom really can mean that there is a deep-rooted issue in your life. A boredom that doesn't briefly flare during an activity you enjoy, but rather a boredom that is so ubiquitous in your life that you are attempting to constantly distract yourself from its presence. Throughout this semester I've tried to convince myself that the boredom of studying is no different from the boredom that will emerge from following Cool's lifestyle. But now I think that these two types of boredom are only similar in name, and the gravity and significance of each are vitally different.

[austennerdita2533]

Day 6: Canon-ish

A/N: This is the first part of an intended 4-shot. Basically, my idea is to craft some kind of Klaroline kiss/moment for each season of the year while also showing the two of them at various points (and emotional states) in their relationship. I started thinking about how Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall all have a different look or feel about them, and I thought it would be fun to play with that thematically/symbolically. Plus, it’d give me an excuse to play with seasonal imagery.

Anyway, this part is Winter. It’s canon until Liz’s death and Caroline’s grappling with the loss. I’ve also ignored all things Stefan and Caroline. (Loss. Angst. Hurt and Comfort.) 

This gave me loads of trouble, so if it’s terrible I apologize but I couldn’t bear to edit it any longer haha. Enjoy. :)

(FF.net)

xx Ashlee Bree

A Kiss For All Seasons

Part 1: Fold Into Me, Shivering

Winter’s kiss wisps across her forehead at a time of shivering delirium and despair.

She’s gone.

It’s not a dream because each breath in tastes metallic and rough, because each breath out rattles and hisses like a dented whiffle ball which has sunk beneath sediment and drowned in the shallowest of streams. It’s real life. It’s real loss, too. And real loss throbs.

It breaks—tearing, cracking, pulling, shattering, rupturing, wrenching a person into angles so painful or contradictory, that life itself feels distorted. It plunges emotions into a vise that’s so unbearable and inescapable at times, it almost feels impossible to still be alive let alone be expected to stand.

Or talk.

Or move.

Or think.

Or cry without wiping at eyes and waiting to find blood puddled on fingertips instead of tears.

At times, grief even makes it difficult to exist.

After someone dies, especially if you loved that person, the world begins to clutter in a way it never did before: it pinches in at the sides so all the noise can spill in unheard, unseen, clouding your mind and chest with smog that refuses to lift so you can breathe easy again. Everything becomes drenched in the blacks and purples and blues of a bruise, too, until there’s nothing left for us to do but crash to our knees. Until all we can do is shrink inside our gloomy new reality and burn our lung’s raw with missing.

In Caroline’s case, icicles splinter across her chest whenever she blinks against the harsh whites of morning to relive the tragedy all over again.

Mommy.

Mommy.

Mommy.

Instead of Liz’s death providing her with comfort or relief now that she’s no longer suffering, the unfair and untimely permanence of loss hollows her out until she’s raw—numb—freezing. The air around her tastes as toxic and as gritty lead. The din of life, which was once so variable and mellifluous and exhilarating to her ears, rings like television static in her head now. Blurring one minute of monotonous agony into the next without end. More than that, the rising sun in the distance (the same one that used to stream vivid, happy yellows through her window every morning), is far too weak or indirect to do anything besides snake across her moistened cheeks with it pale rays before it leaves her cold and dejected again.

Caroline’s parentless now. Alone. She’s still loved by a few friends, of course, but she feels so incredibly, unbelievably, disconnected from them all.

She’s more or less invisible. A ghost.

None of them see me. None of them know what I need.

She’s a ghost girl stuck in this endless life on her own: more hollow than haunted, more sorry and solitary than surviving. She’s an undead warrior on the outside, perhaps, but she’s all but a living, feeling woman shriveling into pieces of nothing within.

“Please don’t leave me,” her body trembles, the words scraping and shrieking inside her own mind as pain paralyzes them in place so they can’t slip down, so they can’t vault out from her throat. “I need you, Mommy, I still need you…”

But Liz is no longer there to answer. She has taken her last breath, has spoken her last goodbye.

There’s no one here who cares for Caroline unconditionally now…no one else who listens. There’s no one around to hold her hand, to kiss away her nightmares, to kill her insecurities so she can fulfill her dreams. There’s no one left who loves her in ‘alls’ instead of ‘somes’—no one.

How could leave me like this, Mommy? How?

Eyes dark-circled with sorrow and exhaustion, Caroline lies curled on one side of her mother’s bed with her knees hugged to her middle. She never stirs; she never sleeps. She stares out the paned window at a February sunrise obscured by indigo snowflakes that drip from the clouds like sleeted tears that the winter needs to cry. Fresh powder bleaches the ground and builds mounds so high they touch the trees, bending branches until they snap like broken rubber bands, burying all sounds of life beneath it except for the squawk of a nearby crow.

In places where the sky meets the horizon, bleak plums, grays, navies, and ivories scratch the edges of Caroline’s vision and almost make her long for blindness. The world outside as stark and as bone-chilling as the nightmare gnawing her apart on the inside:

Mom died, Mom’s DEAD.

But she can’t be gone, she…no! Mom? Mommy, where are you?

Mommy I—please stay. I need you to stay, okay? I’m not ready to live in a world without you. I—not yet.

It’s too soon, it’s too soon!

Mom?

MOMMY!!!?

Shadows scuttle along the walls. The floors. The furniture. Speckling her room like pox of rotting melancholy, they seem to grow larger and more formidable with each tick of the clock on the wall, their black edges curving into sharp spindly fingers that slice at entering streaks of light like a sword; their trunks expanding to root into corners as if they refuse to timber away.

Caroline, however, makes neither a move to halt their proliferation in her room nor to purge them from the space. Instead, she watches with blinking apathy as one detaches from the doorjamb at the far end of the room like a silky talon and crawls closer. It almost glides across the floor.  

How will the shadow consume her, she wonders? With a bite? With a few nibbles? Or will it gulp her down whole and damn her to its full belly of despair, plummeting her into a pit of darkness with no end?

She watches as the shadow drifts forward with a slow yet assured grace. Its movements are cautious. Soundless except for the stray floorboard which creaks when it edges along the foot of the bed and crosses into streaks of daylight, exchanging shadow for skin, swapping an  ‘it’ for a ‘him,’ as a man stoops to kneel beside her head.  

This isn’t just any man, though.

Oh, no.

But one with eyes that are rimmed in lightning yellow. One who smells of cedar and cognac and cologne. Tastes of oranges dipped in rust. Touches with hands made of calloused buttercups. And snaps necks for sport.

He’s someone who charms a crowd with dimples and drawled threats before he strikes swiftly, and completely. He’s a wolf who’s determined to paint away his personal miseries with other’s blood. This is a man who often stars in Caroline’s dreams, and his face is one she not only recognizes, but knows—

Intimately.

“Kl-Klaus? Is that…is that really you?” she croaks uncertainly.

“It is.”

Dizzy, disbelieving, greens and blonds and brown leathers all swirl together in front of her, so she rubs at her puffy eyes then squints harder at the blurred shape of him. Her next words come out more froggy and weak than questioning.

“You came back. You’re—here,” Caroline says with a puff of breath. “You’re back in…back in Mystic Falls?”

“I am.”

“But I didn’t call or—no…no texts were sent?” He nods in confirmation of this, which puzzles her further. “You couldn’t have known that she—and the funeral? No way could you have been there because I, because I never…”

“Wait a minute,” her brows pinch, heavy lids lifting slowly to his face, “did you…did you break into the house?”

Klaus compresses his lips together, shrugs at her sheepishly. Caroline responds to this by smashing her face into her pillow with a groan and an agitated ‘un-freaking-believable.’ Then, in one swift movement, she throws the blankets over top of her and rolls over flat. Onto her back.

“Don’t be angry with me, love.”

She snorts. Pulls the covers higher.

“I realize my relationship with my family is dysfunctional at best,” he tries cautiously, his voice dipping low, “but I do have experience in parental loss. I know what it’s like. How it feels. The way it cuts you and—” she crosses her arms, holds her breath “—burns.”

Caroline cringes and squeezes her arms tight like she’s holding herself together.

“I only worried on your behalf because I know how deeply you cared for the sheriff, so I trailed you home…lingering outside in case you bolted with no reference to your humanity because I didn’t want you to do anything rash you’d regret later. I just, I wanted to keep you safe and protected. To…help you avoid any extra pain.”

"It wasn’t until you screamed that I couldn’t—it didn’t seem right to—not when you sounded so—how could I not look in?”

He pauses for a moment. Clears his throat, cracks his knuckles.

“Anyway, I thought you might be in want a friend,” he offers placatingly, pressing his palms flat against the sheets so he can lean forward a bit and hover above her. “Someone to be a shoulder. A punching bag. A hand for you to squeeze. Whatever…” his voice wobbles uncomfortably, “whatever it is you need.”

“And what if what I need is for you to, you know,” she swallows hard, “get the hell out?”

“Then I’ll go, Caroline.”

She tuts but it lacks bite. “Go where? Back outside to hide behind more snow until I snap?”

Resigned, almost as if he’d expected this kind of reaction, he draws back with a small hiss like he’s been stung, “No,” he answers cooly, his words heavy and flat, “I’ll do as you bid and head home. To Louisiana.”

The air between them becomes stagnant. Oppressive all of a sudden.

“You mean you’ll leave me here?”

“Yes.”

“Alone?” she asks.

“If that’s what you wish,” he sighs, “then yes.”

“Oh.”

Time seems to slow here, silence stretching and growing like a beanstalk weed between their two bodies. Klaus plucks at a mattress spring with his thumb, its notes sharp and discordant underneath her back as he stands to pivot on his heels, readying himself to glide back into the shadows from whence he came. Leaving her alone in Mystic Falls again, setting her free like he promised two years ago.

Caroline hears him shrug his arms into his jacket with a grunt. Or maybe it’s a growl? A humph? Regardless of the noise he makes, there seems to be a sluggish dereliction to his movements. A hesitancy to proceed. And it’s probably because he’s preparing himself for the long trek through miles upon miles of snow that’ll weigh him down like ice before he reaches New Orleans. All of that slush waiting to seep in, hoping to blacken his toes…

He’s more than likely dreading the sound of orange embers crunching into snowy ashes beneath his feet as he retreats from her warm hearth and stomps out through the door again. He probably loathes the idea of submerging himself into a frigid morning all because she’s almost commanded him to go. Leave.

To go off on his own and freeze like me.

At the thought, a fresh chill kisses the back of Caroline’s neck. It momentarily anesthetizes her lungs and she cannot breathe; she cannot think. She cannot feel anything except the frostbite which pricks down low, too low, and buries itself somewhere below skin deep.

The whole world shifts inside her own head again as arctic wind gusts across a few remaining fragments of coziness: of old memories tinged pink with brandy smiles or marshmallow’d cheeks, of scarved hopes for the future knitted in bright, pretty patterns, of rich caroled dreams hummed sweetly into ears with full-bodied meaning, of soft painter’s hands which curled over top of stupid fears or desires like mittens to ease her shuddering, warming her to the bone. All of them slipping away on a sled she’s about to let crash straight through the North Pole so they may never resurface again.

Except how could she bear it? How could she survive the barrenness without them, all the cruelty? How could she find the strength to keep breathing after she lets one final sliver of warmth slip away because she’s bitter and hurting and broken? Where would her optimistic flames entomb themselves? In permafrost? In tundra? In icebergs crowding the sea?

Deep-down, Caroline knows that one biting word from her would silence Klaus for good. One more dismissive statement is all it would take to send him back to New Orleans where he belongs, thereby freeing her up to mope in this room forever. There’d be no more judgment to combat from him, no more concern. But to what end?

So her mouth can match the blue which has settled in around her heart since her mom passed away? So she can shudder harder at the falling flakes of grey and white which accumulate outside her window and aim to bury her beneath centuries of unrelenting snow? So life’s color can leak and harshen until it’s nothing more than a dead block of ice for her to kick?

As if winter isn’t teeth-chattering enough already!

Licking her lips, Caroline exhales before she slides the blanket down the bridge of nose enough to peek up at him. She rakes over his consternated expression. She watches when his body stiffens and squares in preparation of her next words. It’s as if he’s waiting for a dismissal to scythe through the air and lash him up.

“Okay, and what if—” she gulps, her voice dry and a little muffled. “What if I say I don’t want to be alone in this room right now? What then?”

Klaus’ eyes widen, hope spilling into their depths. But only for a second. A scratch of his chin followed by one, two, blinks and it sinks back into his pupils like an illusion. Like it was never there.

“I’ll make sure you aren’t. You won’t be, if that’s what you desire,” he says simply.

“And if I cry?”

He shrugs. “Then you cry.”

“I think I’m out of tissues.”

“You can use my clean sleeve then. I’m sure it’ll do just fine,” he offers drily.

She quirks an eyebrow. Shoots him a dubious look.

“What? I’m not allergic to tears, Caroline, for Christ’s sake.” He rolls his eyes. Wanders closer again. “Not immune to them either, unfortunately, if that’s what troubles you,” he adds under his breath.

Dragging a desk chair behind him, he erects it near her bedside table with a flick of his wrist. And sits.

“But you’re allergic to me, is that it?”

When he opens his mouth to respond only to slam it shut, puzzled, she gestures nonchalantly and says, “You can sit next to me on the bed, Klaus. There’s more than enough room for two, you know. It’s not like I think you have cooties or anything.”

Scooting over and up, she pats the open area with her hand. He doesn’t move.

“Well, come on then!” she tries again, less sarcastically this time. “Take off your shoes so you can climb in here. It’s drafty.”

After a few more seconds of gawking silence, Caroline, feeling both tired and fed up, rolls her eyes before she launches herself onto her knees to grab him by the hand, forcibly tugging him down onto the sheets beside her—shoes be damned!

They crash back against the pillows intertwined: Klaus’ arm braced ‘round her shoulders to cushion the fall; her nose scraping the lapels of his jacket. Her chin bangs against his clavicle and they tumble into the headboard cuddling. It’s an accident, of course, but one that feels comfortable. Oddly natural, too. And instead of shrugging him off or pushing him back so she can erect an elaborate pillow fort between them like she ordinarily would, she veers from expectation and tradition by throwing the blanket over his legs.

Next, she curls into the crook of his neck. Rests a hand in the center of his chest. Exhales. And thaws against his side as she listens to the rush of his ancient heartbeat, feeling it thrum through her own bones like this lullaby:  

‘Hold me close; hold me tight; and everything else will be alright,’  

Klaus initially tenses at the intimate contact. Afraid to move a muscle in case she changes her mind or wants to pull away, probably.

When she doesn’t, he relaxes. One hand drops atop the one of hers already on his chest while the other fingers silky tresses near her ear, plucking them strand by strand so they fall back against her sweatshirt with a sweet tap tap. His mouth also teases the crown of her head. It hovers close enough for her to feel each tickle of his breath against her skin, but remains far enough away that she misses the softness of his lips.

Sliding down lower onto the mattress, he kicks his shoes off onto the floor, lets a foot hook around her ankle, then folds her tighter into the furnace of his arms.

“I must say,” he murmurs against her hair, “a literal pillow is the last thing I expected to be for you today.”

“It’s only because I’m cold. February sucks and I miss my mom, okay? Don’t read too much into it.”

“Whatever you say, love.”

“Oh, shut up, will you? I can hear your smirk from here,” Caroline huffs into his shirt.

“Ah, sweet, sweet proximity.” Klaus sighs contentedly. “It’s half the battle, truth be told.”

“Ugh! You’re so exhausting.”

“I don’t see why,” he answers wryly, “it’s not as if I’m complaining.”

“No, but I know what you’re thinking.”

“Perhaps you do,” he hums in that assured, taunting way of his, “but you can’t fault me for being more than willing to comfort you given the chance.” His fingers draw soothing circles on her back. “So, if body heat is what you need from me right now, then fine—take every last ounce of mine and zip yourself up in it. Wrap it around you like a duvet, because it’s all yours.”

“Suuure,” Caroline drawls sleepily. She yawns. “Until I accidentally elbow you in the nose once I fall asleep, you mean.”

“No. I’m here and I won’t leave you. Not even if you make me bleed,” Klaus says, all pretense gone.

“Oh, you and your ridiculous promises. I swear!”

He responds to this with a low chuckle. It soon flattens into something more weighted and measured when he draws her in to deposit a sweet, earnest kiss across her forehead.

“Ridiculous or not, sweetheart, the promises I make to you I do and will keep. You can count on that,” he adds in a whisper. “You can count on me.”

Emotion clogs her throat at this; stings the corners of her eyes.

It’s right at that moment, with Klaus’ firm and unshakable finality, and his body spooned around her, that Caroline feels a ring of fire spring to life around her heart, thawing her all the way through with hope and waking her up to one devastatingly beautiful enormity: he’s the one person left who’s always wanted to be there for her. And he isn’t going anywhere. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not in a hundred more lifetimes.

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see about that, won’t we?” she shivers, cuddling closer and melding into his warmth.

“Don’t worry, love. Time is on our side.” She feels Klaus’ lips tug upward in smile. They sweep across her forehead again in kiss, but this time, they deliver promise as well as comfort, “We will.”

Thanks for reading. xx

[thomasroach]

Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice Beginner Guide

The post Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice Beginner Guide appeared first on Fextralife.

FromSoftware’s Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice has finally arrived and we’ve prepared a series of Guides to help new players, whether they are Souls veterans or not, overcome the steeper than usual learning curve of the game. In this Sekiro Beginners Guide, we’ll cover things like Stealth, Posture, Prosthetic Tools, Skills and much more. This is the first of 3 Guides on the subject of Sekiro’s mechanics, with Novice and Expert Guides coming later this week.

Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice Beginner Guide

The first thing we are going cover in this Guide is Stealth, and the role that it plays in Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice. Unlike Souls games, that are not really designed around a “sneak” element, Sekiro was created with this in mind from the very start. Let’s dive into this mechanic and see just how this works.

Stealth & Stealth Deathblows

Stealth in Sekiro is not overly complicated, but it isn’t completely explained either, and enemies can see or hear you even while you are “crouched”. This is important to note, because you will need to keep an eye on their indicators to make sure you are not seen, unless you intend to be (YOLO!).

Enemies will have a white triangle above their heads once you’ve moved into their detection radius, and it will slowly start to change to yellow if you remain in it. Once the triangle is fully yellow, enemies will be aware that “something is up” and will proceed to look for you. You can “lose them”, if you remain hidden long enough out of their detection radius, similar to Assassin’s Creed. However, should they spot you this triangle will turn red, and they will then attack you or even call for aid.

These indicators help tell you what is happening. White outline with yellow center means you are being detected.

Crouching helps reduce the noise you make and the amount that you are seen by enemies, and you can do this by pressing the left stick on the controller. Note that if you jump or use your Grappling Hook, you will not land crouched, but will need to click the stick once again. It is not required to be crouched in order to perform Backstab Deathblows, but it can help you perform them, by allowing you to get close to the enemy. Note that you can only use Backstab Deathblows before the enemy has detected you.

Stealth can be improved via the Shinobi Arts Skill Tree where you can spend Skill Points to obtain the Latent Skills: Suppress Sound and Suppress Presence. This Skill Line can be obtained very early in the game, and is given by the Sculptor after progressing a short ways into Ashina Outskirts.

Suppress Presence and Suppress Sound can help keep you hidden from enemies.

These will make it harder for enemies to detect you, and allow more room to maneuver without being seen. Be sure to pick these up if you’re having trouble remaining hidden, and be sure to check out our Stealth Guide for a more in depth analysis of Stealth.

Posture & Combat

Every character in the game has a Posture Gauge that fills when they are struck with an attack, when they block and attack, when they deflect an attack or when their attacks are blocked or deflected. When a character’s Posture Gauge becomes full (flashes bright orange) they are vulnerable briefly to a Shinobi Deathblow. This includes Sekiro himself, so you will need to keep an eye on your own Posture Gauge as well. Note that your Posture will regenerate faster if you are holding block (L1), which is completely contrary to Souls games.

In this image both of our Posture Gauges are full…it was tense.

Filling an enemy’s Posture Gauge (and performing a Shinobi Deathblow) is the primary means of defeating enemies, and is the only way you can defeat Mini-Bosses and Bosses. Because an enemy’s Posture Gauge fills much faster when you deflect attacks than when you block or attack, you will need to learn enemy attack patterns in order to get the timing of these deflections down. Deflecting is done by pressing L1, which is the same button used to block, at the exact moment a blow would strike. The window is quite forgiving, and you can still deflect attacks even if your timing is off by a small amount. However, the more exact your timing, the less your own Posture Gauge will fill, and the more your opponent’s will.

You can still defeat enemies by lowering their Vitality to 0, with the exception of Mini-Bosses and Bosses, as mentioned above. There are enemies in the game that take more Vitality damage than Posture damage when you attack, making this a valid strategy in many cases. In addition, as a character’s Vitality decreases, the slower their Posture regenerates. In some  cases you will need to deal damage with attacks and deflect, in order to fill the Posture Gauge of your target. Note that a successful dodge fills neither the attacker’s or defender’s Posture Gauge, making it a useful, but less than ideal form of avoiding damage.

I should have probably made a meme out of this picture…

Perilous Attacks & Counters

Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice features something called “Perilous Attacks” which occur when fighting more difficult enemies like Mini-Bosses and Bosses. You will know when they happen by the red Kanji that appears on the screen, and the distinct sound that you will hear. Depending on what type of Perilous Attack occurs you will be able to “Counter” it. Note that you do not have to Counter them, and that you can still deflect them or dodge them, but this is the ideal method of handling them.

The red Kanji means you are in danger, so watch out for it and Counter when you can.

Counters can be performed during Perilous Attacks, whereby the player does a special move at the right movement. These Counters don’t deal any Vitality damage to the enemy, but they deal significantly more Posture damage than a regular deflection, making them very important.

Players begin the game being able to Counter “sweep attacks” by jumping over the enemy’s weapon and kick flipping off of their head. The Mikiri Counter can be unlocked from the Shinobi Arts Skill Tree and allows the player to Counter enemy “thrust attacks”. Later this can be improved to deal even more Posture damage when performed.

Pressing the jump button again, after you’ve jumped over the sweep will perform this Counter.

One interesting thing about these Counters is that should fill an enemy’s Posture Gauge by using one, you will be able to do a special Shinobi Deathblow that is unique to that Counter. These look insanely cool, and make you feel like a super badass if you pull one off.

Skills & Skill Types

In Sekiro, part of player progression is unlocking Skill Trees and gaining Skills. Skill Trees are unlocked by finding Esoteric Texts, which are tied to doing specific actions, so please see the Wiki for the specifics.

Once an Esoteric Text has been found, players can spend their Skill Points to gain Skills from that Skill Tree, and there are 3 types of Skills:

Latent Skills: Latent Skills are essentially “passive skills” that apply a boost of some kind, and do not need to be activated. For example, gaining more Spirit Emblems, or having a stronger Healing Gourd.

Combat Arts: Combat Arts must be equipped by the player, and they can only have one Combat Art at a time. These can be changed at a Sculptor’s Idol, and more will be unlocked through out the game. These Skills have a redish background to their icon.

Shinobi Martial Arts: Shinobi Martial Arts have a blue background on their icon, and they simply allow the player to perform more specific actions in combat. One example is the Mikiri Counter. You cannot perform it until you have acquired this Skill.

Players gain Skill Points via killing enemies and filling the blue experience bar at the top of their screen. They are spent at any Sculptor’s Idol, and each Skill costs a certain number of points. It is highly unlikely that a player will be able to max out all their Skill Lines in one playthrough without intense grinding, so plan accordingly, and take only the ones you really want.

This is what it looks like when you gain a Skill Point. Your bar flashes light blue for a moment.

Shinobi Prosthetic & Prosthetic Tools

Through out the game players will be able to obtain Prosthetic Tools that they can use in combat. These are found in various locations of the game, so please see the Wiki for their exact specifics. Once you have obtained a new Prosthetic Tool, you will need to visit the Sculptor in the Dilapidated Temple in order to outfit yourself with it. Once finished, it will be added to your arsenal that you can swap out at an Sculptor’s Idol. Players can have up to 3 Prosthetic Tools equipped at once, and these can be cycled through on the fly during combat.

Prosthetic Tools can also be upgraded after you have obtained the Mechanical Barrel, by visiting the Sculptor once again, after defeating Gyoubu Oniwa. This will create new versions of already obtained Prosthetic Tools, that can be slotted alongside your existing ones. Note that in order to upgrade you must have located the basic version of the Tool first, this is usually the “Loaded” version.

Once you defeat Gyoubu then you can upgrade your Prosthetic Tools.

In order to use Prosthetic Tools in combat, you will need to have Spirit Emblems. These act as a refillable “currency”, much like mana in other games, that prevents the player from just spamming Prosthetic Tool attacks at will. Players can purchase Spirit Emblems from a Sculptor’s Idol, gain them from defeating enemies, or find them through out the map. Each Tool has its own cost, with some being much higher than others, so pay attention to this when selecting your Tools to equip. Also note, that excess Spirit Emblems are automatically stored for you, and will replenish when resting at a Sculptor’s Idol, much the way Blood Vials or Silver Bullets did in Bloodborne.

Death Penalty & Resurrection

Through out Sekiro, you will die numerous times, often with the chance to Resurrect. You should do so any time that you can because if you really die then you will lose half of your current XP bar and half your Sen (gold). It does not matter whether you use Resurrection or not, you will always incur the penalty upon death and respawning at a Sculptor’s Idol.

In addition, there is a chance you will spread Dragonrot to the game’s NPCs, making them sick and halting their quest lines. This probability is different for each of the game’s NPCs, so some are more likely than others to be affected. Note that the Sculptor will always be the first to get Rot Essence, and that your Unseen Aid will reduce for each NPC effected. Again, this occurs whether you use your Resurrect or not, so there is no reason not to use it.

You can clear Dragonrot, but it’s not easy to do.

Unseen Aid prevents the player from losing XP and Sen after dying and respawning at a Sculptor’s Idol, whether they used Resurrect or not. There is a default chance of 30% to receive Unseen Aid, which will be reduced significantly when the Sculptor is affected, and each subsequent infection will reduce your chance of Unseen Aid by a certain percentage. Note that it would seem that you cannot increase your Unseen Aid past 30%.

Stay tuned for more Sekiro coverage as we cover things a Novice and Expert need to know about the game, and publish a few Build Guides as well. Be sure to check out the Sekiro Wiki for all your needs, and join us on Twitch to see us live in action!

The post Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice Beginner Guide appeared first on Fextralife.

Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice Beginner Guide published first on https://juanaframi.tumblr.com/

[gamegeekzeu-blog]

Shadow Tactics: Blades of the Shogun has made a great transfer from PC to PS4 and lives up to the acclaimed original. With its unique play style and nice graphics, it’s almost guaranteed to be a smash hit. But will the controls make it playable on console? We’ve tested it and came to a final verdict.

Shadow Tactics

What is Shadow Tactics all about? Well, you control a group working for the Shogun, protecting him, his people and killing his enemies. There are five characters and each has their own personality and skills to bring to the mission. There are cut scenes between each level and your characters chat throughout missions. The story itself is quite simple but works as a good excuse for a variety of missions.

In a mission, you have an isometric view of the map and can pan, zoom and rotate the camera as you see fit to plan out your moves. The controls actually take quite some getting used to as multiple actions are assigned to certain buttons and context pays a strong part in which actions you’ll be performing. They do a great job though and I got used to them and can’t say I could ever blame them for my errors.

You control whichever character you have selected directly with the left stick, there’s no mouse pointer obviously, you can crouch, interact with the environment, attack enemies and use items with the face buttons. Left on the d-pad allows you to highlight specific enemies and see (one at a time) what their vision cone covers. That’s right, it’s one of those games in which fighting anyone head on will not end well for you. The cones are actually very large so planning ahead is vital, though the game gives you all the tools you need to succeed.

Cones have two states, closer to the enemy they’ll be solid which means if you enter that area then you will quickly be spotted. Further away the cone becomes faded and here you won’t be spotted if you’re crouched. Finding the safe path or creating your own, is the key to success. Each character has their own tools and abilities, each being useful in different situations.

The Blades of the Shogun

Hayato is a ninja so can dispatch enemies quickly, use a shuriken for ranged kills and distract enemies by throwing stones. Yuki is a thief so is a little slower to get the kill, but has a bird whistle which draws enemies towards it and a ground trap for them to step on. Mugen is a samurai and so the strongest character at your disposal, he can kill multiple enemies at once with his sword wind attack and draw enemies away from their patrols with a bottle of sake. Aiko is also a ninja but one who can wear disguises to hide in plain sight or use sneezing powder to shorten an enemies viewing cone briefly. Takuma is an elderly man so can’t take people out directly but is a master marksman who can take out enemies from a distance with his rifle. He also has a tanuki with which to distract enemies, and bombs to loudly take out groups.

You have lots of options with which to complete your objectives, depending on which characters are available for that mission. Whether you want to go lethal or non-lethal there are multiple ways to approach each encounter. All characters can hide in bushes and use ladders to reach higher areas, while the ninjas can use a grappling hook on specific points and swim undetected if there is a body of water. Takuma can’t carry bodies, the females are weaker and drag bodies to safety, whereas Hayato can carry one body relatively quickly whilst Mugen can carry two bodies while running!

You might think with such well-defined abilities that once you’d mastered them that each level would basically play out the same but that’s where the level- and enemy design comes in. The basic soldier can be manipulated easily with noises or disguises, ‘straw hats’ stick to their patrol so are harder to isolate. Samurai can’t be fooled by any tricks and need to be offed by Mugen or stunned with gunfire before being killed by the weaker characters. The combination of these enemies with overlapping line of sight and moving patrols, on top of level specific hazards like leaving footprints in snow or torches illuminating you keep the challenge high and the gameplay rewarding.

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Shadow Tactics is a pretty difficult game. Only being able to see one enemy sight line at a time means you need to be able to visualize where is safe and often you’ll step out of the shadows only to be spotted instantly by someone you didn’t think of. Luckily the game’s best feature has you pressing the touchpad to create a quick save, so any mistakes can be erased in a matter of seconds. Three quick saves are kept in case you play yourself into a corner. And you have normal saves through the pause menu if you want to create something a permanent one. The game is designed to be played this way too, and as by default, a reminder pops up at the top of the screen to tell you how long it’s been since you quick saved. Yes, that means the game can boil down to trial and error but if you’re good enough you won’t need it. It’s a nice safety net to have, as levels (at least first time through) can take over an hour easily.

With thirteen levels that’s a decent amount of content, but for those who want a challenge, there are also badges to go for. Each level has a speed run challenge and a hardcore difficulty challenge, but there are also level specific ones like not saving, not touching bushes, not touching water or not killing anyone to name a few. These are very difficult but for those who feel they’ve mastered the game but want more, it adds some welcome replay value.

So it’s a well-structured game with likable characters and rewarding level design but it’s probably not much to look at right? Again, the visual and audio design are really nice. Each level looks quite unique, capturing the time period and playing well. The music isn’t too memorable but as you’re spending a lot of time in levels it is nice to have in the background. Voice acting comes in English or Japanese allowing you to go for full authenticity if you choose.

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If you love stealth strategy games, then Shadow Tactics: Blades of the Shogun is the one for you. Released first on PC is not a big deal at all. It looks gorgeous and the controls obviously take some getting used to, but the game runs just as beautiful as the original. Just relax and take your time to soak in this superb experience; you will definitely like it!

Shadow Tactics: Blades of the Shogun was released on PlayStation 4 and Xbox One on 28th July 2017 in the EU and 1st August in North America. Official website >> click here << Limited Collector’s Editions are sold out so check Ebay for that.

Shadow Tactics: Blades of the Shogun made the transfer to PS4. But will the controls make it playable on console? We came to a final verdict Shadow Tactics: Blades of the Shogun has made a great transfer from PC to PS4 and lives up to the acclaimed original.