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brightbeautifulthings · 4 years

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Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace

"'What if sometimes there is no choice about what to love? What if the temple comes to Mohammed? What if you just love? without deciding? You just do: you see her and in that instant are lost to sober account-keeping and cannot choose but to love?'"

Year Read: 2014, 2020

Rating: 5/5

Context: It's hard to know where to begin writing a review for this book. I read it for the first time in graduate school in about five weeks (alongside everything else I had to do in grad school, so I don't recommend that), and it basically blew my mind. At the same time, it's hard to imagine tackling it any other way for the first time. Despite its difficulty, there are things obsessive and immersive and, appropriately, even addictive about it. Full immersion might be the only way to read it for the first time, and I obsessed about it for months afterward. Since I'm not on any deadlines, I took it more slowly this time (21 weeks) so I could enjoy the writing and the nuances without the pressure to finish. For my less coherent weekly updates in real time, see my blog posts. Trigger warnings: Everything, everything. Death (on-page), child death, animal death, suicide, suicidal ideation, rape, pedophilia, possible incest, child abuse/abusive households, graphic violence/gore, eye horror, severe injury, drug use, addiction, alcoholism, mental illness, depression, OCD, grief, racism, ableism, transphobia, sexism, inexplicable hostility toward Canadians.

About: If it's difficult to know how to write a review, it's equally hard to describe what Infinite Jest is about. It's about so many things, tennis, addiction, communication (failures), and entertainment among them, but I'll do my best. Beneath all the numerous characters, timelines, and subplots, the main plot is about a film so entertaining that it kills anyone who watches it, robs them of all desire to do anything but watch it until they die, and what a faction of Canadian assassins will do to possess it. The auteur is James Incandenza, a suicide whose son, Hal, is a prodigy at Enfield Tennis Academy. Next door to E.T.A. is Ennet House, a drug rehabilitation center where Don Gately, former thief and Demerol addict, is taking it day by day to stay sober. Though they don't know it, Hal and Gately are connected, and the deadly Entertainment and those who seek it draw their paths closer and closer together.

Thoughts: It's rare to find a book that is actually as smart as it claims to be, but IJ is--certainly much smarter than I am, despite all my attempts to make sense of it. It starts off strong and doesn't let up for several hundred pages, which is a huge achievement all by itself. Wallace excels at writing extremely polished sections that could almost function alone as short stories, and the first chapter is one of my favorites in all fiction. It's reassuring, I think, to start the book off on a strong note, in case we worried we were in for a thousand pages of tedious slog. It can be both, but it's often heartfelt, insightful, and funny as well, and the payoff is well worth the effort. I don’t know how Wallace manages to pack every page with so much meaning. Anybody can put tedious lists in their books or make reading purposely difficult (and I have attitude about writers who do this for no reason), but there’s nothing haphazard about this book, despite its size and varied focus. Everything seems utterly intentional. The conversations are really top-tier; Wallace has a great ear for how people talk, and it's a fascinating look at how communication works and doesn't work.

Thematically, I think the book succeeds on more than any other level, including plot or structure. If we could say this book is "about" anything, we would almost certainly start with the themes and not the plot, which is often secondary to whatever point Wallace is trying to make at the moment. It takes an in-depth looks at things like addiction, depression, loneliness, failed communication, sincerity v. irony, critiques of postmodernism and metafiction (while being very meta itself, at times), and the very specific selfishness of an American culture that insists on freedom even to the point of self-destruction. At times, it feels a little heavy-handed or like it was yanked right out of an intro to philosophy course, but I suppose something in a thousand pages has to be obvious if we're ever going to pick up on it. A lot of these themes resurface in his other work, from "This is Water" and "E Unibus Pluram" to Orin Incandenza's Brief Interview style Q and A (and he would be a perfectly fitting character in that book).

The characters are some of my favorites in literary fiction as well, particularly the Incandenza family and Don Gately, and to a lesser extent Joelle Van Dyne (although Wallace typically doesn’t write female characters very well, and she comes with some issues). Hal and Gately couldn't be more different; Hal excels at everything he's ever done, and Gately has a record that includes accidental homicide on it. Hal is the hero of non-action, since little that happens in the book is engineered by him, while Gately is closer to the more typical hero of action, who defends the undeserving at great cost to himself. Yet their struggles with addiction are similar, and they both manage to be incredibly sympathetic characters. In my opinion, the book is always at its best when we’re with Hal or Gately, but I’m strongly driven by good characters. Despite being dead, James Incandenza's presence is also felt all over the book, from the Entertainment he created to his haunting ETA and sticking beds to the ceiling (probably the weirdest ghost I've ever seen in fiction). He's a tragic character in a book full of tragic characters. The others are too numerous to name, from the other tennis players at ETA and recovering addicts at Enfield, to the various bystanders populating Boston. We get brief glimpses into almost all of them, and while they may not all feel relevant at the time, most are memorable or heart-wrenching or slapstick funny, or all three. It's a book that contains multitudes.

That's not to say it's always on point though, and it isn't. There are a number of very serious problems with representation in this novel, and they're as bad as its detractors claim. A lot of the 90s humor aged very poorly, but that's not an excuse for some of the unabashedly racist depictions of African Americans, the uncharitable descriptions of Steeply's and Poor Tony's cross-dressing, or--however much I love him as a character--the fact that Mario Incandenza’s descriptions are ableist in just about every possible way. Wallace thinks he's capturing "voice" when he's really encouraging harmful stereotypes. The humor of the novel often doesn’t depend at all on these stereotypes and would in fact, be a lot more funny if I wasn’t spending so much energy cringing at it. So many of the little racist and ableist asides could have easily been edited out of the entire novel to make it less offensive. There are also sections where he seems at pains to be as gross as possible for its own sake. There are plenty of things grim or uncomfortable or flat out distasteful about this book, but sometimes the graphic violence kind of jumps out and stabs you in the eye, say, with a railroad spike.

If there are times when I was totally absorbed in the little tragedies of the Incandenza family or Gately's struggles, there are plenty more where it's like pushing something heavy up a hill. No lie, some of it is slogging through tedious minutiae and various experimental writing styles (some more successful and less offensive than others). Wallace has a gift for purposeful tedium; it’s at its peak in The Pale King, but he gives it a nice warm-up round here. The novel is difficult and meant to be, since Wallace maintained that some of the best pleasures are the ones we have to work for, and he's not totally off base. There's something very satisfying about living, for a time, in a book that spans a thousand pages, that demands focus and perseverance, and manages to give back (almost) as much as it takes. The book is always structurally interesting, but it starts to get more complicated toward the end as various characters and plots begin to almost slide into one another. I forgot how frustrating it was to near the end and realize--again--that it wasn't going to wrap up with any kind of satisfaction; the various plots slide, but they don’t meet. I thought if I paid closer attention on a second read that I would pick up more of the plot things I’d missed on my first, but I think the problem is that those answers simply aren’t to be found in the actual text. Of course, they can point us toward various conclusions, and the novel certainly encourages us to speculate and make connections, but I don’t think the actual answers are there.

That brings me to some of my final thoughts, for now. There's no doubt that this is a hugely successful book, and I believe it accomplished exactly what Wallace meant it to do. He jokingly referred to it as a failed entertainment, much the way Jim considered his lethal Entertainment a failure, but I have the sense that Wallace, unlike Jim, failed on purpose. The book purposely pays more attention to structure and theme than it does to plot or character, yet the plot and characters are hugely compelling for what we see of them. Imagine the book it could have been if he had paid equal attention to all of them. Wallace attempted to create a book that people wouldn't want to stop reading. Reaching the end certainly encourages us to begin again, as the first chapter is actually the last in chronology, but that trick only works the first time. By my second read, I realized that starting over wouldn't help me fill in any of those blanks or answer any of my questions, and I was content to let it go. On the one hand, IJ depends upon its structure to tell the story it's telling. On the other, think of the book it could have been if it spent more time telling a story and developing its characters and less time belaboring a point. It's one of the best books I've ever read, and the tragedy is that I think it could have been even better.

#book review #infinite jest #david foster wallace #literary fiction #adult fiction #5/5 #rating: 5/5 #2020 #bookoween

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knifeonmars · 4 years

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Capsule Reviews, February 2021

Here's some things I've been reading.

The Curse of Brimstone

DC's New Age of Heroes books, emerging from the beginning of Scott Snyder's creative-flameout-as-crossover-event Metal, mostly constituted riffs on Marvel heroes like the Fantastic Four (in The Terrifics) or the Hulk (in Damage). The Curse of Brimstone is a riff on Ghost Rider. It's... uneven. The first volume is generally pretty good, and when Phillip Tan is drawing it, as he does the first three and a half issues, it's gorgeous and unique, when he departs though, the quality takes a nose dive. None of the replacement artists, including the great Denis Cowan, can quite fill his shoes, and the story gets old fast. Guy makes a deal with the devil (or rather, a devil-like inhabitant of the "Dark Multiverse" as a not horribly handled tie-in to the conceits of Metal), realizes it's a raw deal, and rebels. The characters are flat, lots of time is spent with the main character's sister haranguing him to not use his powers (it is, in my humble opinion, something of a cardinal sin to have a character whose primary role is telling other characters to stop doing interesting things), too many potboiler "I know you're still in there!/I can feel this power consuming me!" exchanges, a couple of underwhelming guest spots (including a genuinely pointless appearance by the old, white, boring Doctor Fate) too many flashbacks, and not enough of the action. There's potential in the classic demonic hero rebelling plotline and its link to the liminal spaces of the DC universe, forgotten towns and economic depression, but the wheels come off this series pretty much as soon as Tan leaves. The really disappointing this is that the series is clearly built as an artistic showcase, so after Tan's shockingly early departure, the main appeal of the series is gone and there's nothing left but the playing out of an obviously threadbare story.

Star Wars - Boba Fett: Death, Lies, and Treachery

I don't care much about Star Wars these days, and I think that most of the old Expanded Universe was, as evidenced by Crimson Empire, pretty bad. Death, Lies, and Treachery, is that rare Star Wars EU comic which is actually good. John Wagner writes and he's in full-on 2000 AD mode, writing Boba Fett as a slightly more unpleasant Johnny Alpha (who is like a mercenary Judge Dredd, for those unfamiliar) right on down to the appearance of a funny alien sidekick for one of the characters. The main attraction is Cam Kennedy's art though, along with his inimitable colors: this might be the best looking Star Wars comic ever. The designs are all weird and chunky, with an almost kitbashed feeling that captures the lived in aesthetic of classic Star Wars, and the colors are one of a kind. Natural, neutral white light does not exist in this comic, everything is always bathed at all times in lurid greens or yellows, occasionally reds, and it looks incredible. In terms of "Expanded Universe" material for Star Wars, this hits the sweet spot of looking and feeling of a piece, but exploring the edges of the concept with a unique voice. It's great. I read this digitally, but I'd consider it a must-buy in print if I ever get the chance at a deal.

Zaroff

Zaroff is a French comic (novel? novella?). It's like 90 pages and it delivers exactly on its premise of "Die Hard starring the bad guy from The Most Dangerous Game." It's pretty good. Count Zaroff, he of the habitual hunting of humans, turns out to have killed a mafia don at some point, and after miraculously escaping his own seeming death at the end of the original story, finds himself hunted by the irate associates of this gangster, who have brought along Zaroff's sister and her kids to spice things up. Zaroff not only finds himself the hunt, but he also has to protect his estranged family as they struggle to survive. Nothing about this book or its twists and turns is likely to surprise you, but I don't think being surprised is always necessary for quality. Zaroff delivers on pulpy, early-20th century jungle action, is gorgeously rendered, and the fact that Zaroff himself is an unrepentant villain adds just enough of an unexpected element to the proceedings and character dynamics that it doesn't feel rote. There's a couple of points, ones typical of Eurocomics, which spark a slight sour note, such as some "period appropriate" racism and flashes of the male gaze, but for the most part these are relatively contained. It's good.

Batman: Gothic

Long before Grant Morrison did their Bat-epic, they wrote Batman: Gothic, an entirely different, but then again maybe not so different, kind of thing. It starts off with what must be called a riff on Fritz Lang's film, M, only where that story ends with a crew of gangsters deciding they cannot pass moral judgment on a deranged child-murderer, in Morrison's story they go ahead and kill him, only for the killer to return years later to rather horribly murder all of them as a warmup for a grandiose scheme involving unleashing a weaponized form of the bubonic plague on Gotham City as an offering to Satan. Along the way it turns out that said villain, one Mr. Whisper, is a former schoolmaster of Bruce Wayne's, who terrified the young Batman in the days before his parent's deaths. It's an earlier Morrison story and it shows. Certain elements presage their later Batman work; Mr. Whisper as a satanic enemy recalls the later Doctor Hurt, and the cathedral Mr. Whisper built to harvest souls recalls what writers like Morrison, Milligan, and Snyder would do concerning Gotham as a whole years later.The art, by Klaus Janson, is spectacular. If you're familiar at all with his work collaborating with Frank Miller you'll see him continuing in a similar vein and it's all quite good, even when he stretches beyond the street milieu which most readers might know him from. There's one particular sequence where Janson renders a needlessly complicated Rube Goldberg machine in motion that manages to work despite being static images. The writing by Morrison though, is not their finest. The M riff doesn't last as long as it could, and Mr. Whisper's turn in the latter half of the story from delicious creepy wraith to a cackling mass murderer who puts Batman in an easily escaped death trap feels like something of a letdown from the promise of the first half of the book. Gothic is good, but not, in my opinion, great. It's certainly worth checking out for Morrison fans however, and I imagine that someone well-versed in his latter Batman stuff might be able to find some real resonance between the two.

Green Arrow: The Longbow Hunters

For a long, long time, Longbow Hunters was THE Green Arrow story. It is to Green Arrow as TDKR is to Batman, deliberately so. Mike Grell wrote and drew the reinvention of the character from his role as the Justice League's resident limousine liberal to a gritty urban vigilante operating in Seattle over the course of these three issues, which he'd follow up with a subsequent ongoing. Going back to it, it certainly merits its reputation, but its far from timeless. Grell's art is unimpeachable absolutely incredible, with great splashes and spreads, subtle colors, and really great figure work. The narrative is almost so 80's it hurts though, revolving around West Coast serial killers, cocaine, the CIA and the Iran-Contra scandal, and the Yakuza, and it's hard to look back at some of this stuff without smirking. The story begins with a teenager strung out on tainted coke sprinting through a window in a scene that's right out of Reefer Madness. In the cold light of a day 30+ years later, parts of it look more than a little silly. The 80's-ness of it all doesn't stop with that stuff though, even the superhero elements smack of it. Green Arrow realizes that he's lost a step and has be to be shown a way forward by an Asian woman skilled in the martial arts (recalling Vic Sage's reinvention in the pages of The Question), and Black Canary gets captured and torture off-panel for the sake of showing that this is real crime now, not the superhero silliness they've dealt with before. The treatment of Black Canary here is pretty markedly heinous, it's a classic fridging and Grell's claims that he didn't intentionally imply sexual assault in his depiction of her torture is probably true, but still feels more than a little weak considering how he chose to render it.The final analysis is that this book is good, but it exists strictly in the frame of the 1980's. If you're a fan of Green Arrow, there are worse books to pick up, or if you're interested in that era of DC Comics it's more than worth it, but as a matter of general interest I wouldn't recommend it very highly.

SHIELD by Steranko

Jim Steranko is sort of the prodigy of the early Marvel years, a young guy who came up through the system, blossomed into an incredible talent, and then left the company, and by and large the industry, behind. He would go on to dabble in publishing, work in other mediums, and generally kick around as the prodigal son of Marvel Comics. This collection, of both his Nick Fury shorts in the pages of Strange Tales and the four issues he drew of the original Nick Fury solo series, charts Steranko's growth as an artist. The book starts off with Steranko working from Jack Kirby's layouts with Stan Lee's dialogue and writing, and Steranko might be the one guy in history for whom working off of Kirby's blueprints is clearly holding him back. The first third or so of this collection really isn't much to write home about, as Steranko is obviously constrained by someone else's style, and at the end of the day those early stories still read as somewhat uninspired pulp compared to the highlights of early Marvel. There are flashes though, of techniques and ideas, which foreshadow what Steranko is capable of, and when he finally takes over as solo writer/artist it's like he's been unleashed. He immediately has Nick Fury tear off his shirt and start throwing guys around over psychedelic effects. He writes out most of Kirby and Lee's frankly uninspired boys' club supporting cast, he makes Fury visibly older, wearier, but also so much cooler. It's the birth of Nick Fury as a distinctly comic book super spy.By the time he finishes wrapping up the previous writers' plotline with Hydra and Baron von Strucker, Steranko is firing on all cylinders. By the time it gets to Steranko's Fury solo series, he's somehow surpassed himself, turning in effects, panel structures, and weird stories which make the earlier installment about a suit-wearing Man from UNCLE knockoff and its strict six-panel layouts look absolutely fossilized.I can't recommend this collection highly enough for any fan of the artform, even if the stories themselves might not be everyone's cup of tear. It's truly incredible to watch Steranko emerge as an artist over the course of this single collection. The book itself has a few problems, it's not the most elegantly designed in its supporting materials and index, but the content of it more than outweighs that. It's great stuff.

#capsule reviews #comics

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threelivesthreeworlds · 5 years

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Basically an Essay about Lian Song, Shhhhhhhhh.

Lian Song’s age, why he’s the youngest son of Tianjun, how Donghua referred to him as a prodigy

At the start of Lotus Step Lian Song is 40,000 years old, which to give a timeline for this is post Mo Yuan’s “death” by 20,000 years, set a bit after the failed arranged marriage between his second brother now former crown prince Sang Ji and Bai Qian, and 50,000 years before the current timeline of Ten Miles of Peach Blossoms and The Pillowbook.

The official youngest child of The Heavenly King Tianjun, his father had decided by the influence of Donghua that Lian Song would be his final child as Donghua said he would not end up with any smarter a child and thus viewed the perfect son by Tianjun. He is also the favorite of Tianjun, which gives Lian Song some wiggle room but also places a lot of pressure on him at times to continue being the perfect son. Clashing as sons and fathers do when Lian Song’s beliefs on a certain topic begin to shift leads them to entering a bet that can determine his livelihood and where his life progressed from there. Tianjun only did it for Lian Song to learn a lesson if he’s wrong because he wants the best for him, while Lian Song enters it for a somewhat selfless reason and to prove to Tianjun his conclusion is accurate.

Lian Song spent years essentially sleeping in Donghua Dijun’s library, and Donghua calls him a prodigy as time goes, with good reason. Because while Sang Ji was thought to be the most intelligent, Lian Song hadn’t messed up a spell since the age of 10,000, which roughly in mortal age for an immortal is about 5 or 6 years old. It’s likely he achieved his first lightning at some point before the age of 40,000 to hold the role of the Water God, while his great skill in battle makes Tianjun want him to take up the role of God of War left vacant by Mo Yuan at that time.

And so, for those who he deems suitable to entrust great work to, his first lesson for them must be how to be an unfeeling god. It was perhaps for this reason that Tianjun privately favored His Third Highness a little.

Straight-laced and serious first prince and upright and honest second prince seemed to be unfeeling people, but in truth had much feeling, and the unserious third prince seemed to be a man of great feeling, but never thought much of feeling and was then the most unfeeling person.

This naturally gifted youngest son, a young god who has never lost on the battlefield - even though he was a bit idle, and one could never tell what went on in his head all day, he was strong and smart, and the most remarkable thing was that there was no emotion in the world that could move him, that could bother him. To be the war god that protected the realm seemed to be the very reason for his birth.

Lian Song and his perfectionist tendencies, that Good Old Depression Mood (™), his three million hobbies.

Because of him perfecting spells by a young age, it kept the pressure on him to continuously stay at that level and beyond to his greatest ability. He always searches out knowledge, going through all the materials in Donghua’s library and what he can get his hands on, though for his own learning purposes or other reasons, it doesn’t seem to matter. Lian Song will look for it.

While some of Lian Song’s tone and words align with Buddhist beliefs --- it also reads a bit depression-like or how one might describe depression for them, where everything feels sort of void and empty and nothing quite has much meaning. He tends to come off bored, and constantly learning new things and cycling through hobbies (painting, carving, making things akin to music boxes, makes jewelry, learns how to cook during his time in the mortal realm, researching, and more) putting things down but eventually picking them up again. It’s endless but it gives him something to do.

"Everything in the world had its ebb and flow, life and death, and there is no occurrence that is permanent, no thing that is permanent, no feeling that is permanent. Everything is inconstant, and so must become nothing, and yet from nothingness is born other things, and so it must again become something, but in this ebb and flow and life and death there is nothing to hold on to, to make permanent - that is emptiness."

She didn't understand, looking at the not so distant, beautiful goddess, asking lightly: "So this moment is also empty to Your Highness? Emptiness - isn't it tedious? Does Your Highness think this moment is tedious?"

His Third Highness answered her absently as he dipped his pen into the ink: "Emptiness makes one feel tedious?" He smiled, a smile that held a hint of boredom, hanging faintly at the corners of his lips: "Not tedious," he said. "Emptiness makes one feel desolate."

His playboy life and how he Somehow No Like Touchy-Touchy. And How He Is Developing Them Emos, in which Cheng Yu is definitely different to him than other female mortals and goddesses.

The perspective of Tianbu, Lian Song’s kind of a glorified immortal housekeeper I guess you can call her, it is said for the past 10,000 years beauties and goddesses have come and gone from Lian Song’s palace, which places the third prince started his playboy days back when he was the equivalent of a mortal’s age of 15. This is the same age Bai Feng Jiu is when entangled with Donghua, which gives an interesting insight when remembering 90,000 year old Lian Song worries about what his best friend’s intentions are for the young Qingqiu princess.

He doesn’t appear too much of an active party with the goddesses or other beauties we see him interact with. It’s possible he kind of dead fished his way through things, while still both treating the women coolly yet nicely enough. A strange combo, especially when learning Lian Song does not like to be touched and best to stay several feet away.

It’s funny as he is quite touchy with Cheng Yu, in fact he does a lot of things with and for Cheng Yu that he wouldn’t normally do. Even as far as questioning himself for why he feels a desire to basically take care of her.

Lian Song also starts feeling emotions he never felt before. Unlike Yehua and Donghua who had their consciousness to the realms sealed off during their times in the mortal realm, he is immersed in his role as a human. And Cheng Yu somehow causes emotions to start blooming in his heart, not just love but immense patience, anger, sorrow, a sense of fear when he is performing a little magic for her (the small part of his powers his father couldn’t seal off) and messing up his spell to the point his hands were shaking. Cheng Yu has a definite impact on him that no one ever has before.

The slight tickling feeling made his heart move, the right hand that had been casting the spell trembling uncontrollably.

His Third Highness hadn't made a mistake casting a spell in thirty thousand or so years, not to mention, on such a simple trick.

And one mistake created a spectacle.

He [Lian Song] saw her tears rolling down to the ground, and she [Cheng Yu] cried very sadly, but those tears seemed to not sink into the ground, but sink into his heart. He couldn’t think if it was also empty, her tears were so real, and when they melted into his heart, he felt warm. He had never had such an experience.

Then an abrupt laugh was heard from Lian San. "Yes," he said. After a moment, he continued. "I do miss her very much, but I can control it and not see her. So perhaps I don't like her that much after all."

#Eternal Love #Three Lives Three Worlds #Eternal Love of Dream #three lives three worlds the pillow book #Lotus Step #Three Lives Three Worlds The Lotus Step #Lian Song #(posted by admin lin)#(translation by admin ro)#(admin ro is such a boo to translate. i love her omg)#(also im so sorry for this but also im not. lET ME LOVE THIS BOI)

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erenthecoordinate · 6 years

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Hello. Please share your thoughts about the latest couple of chapters/Zeke's backstory.

Not gonna lie, this probably one of the most emotional chapters I’ve read in a while. I’ve been asking for a Zeke-centric chapter that would explain his motives and we got it in the classical heartbreaking fashion that this series is known to dish out. AND it includes an explosive cliffhanger that Michael Bay would be proud of and make a good portion of the fandom look at a panel at 200% zoom and contrast change for 3 days.

I think the last time I talked about Zeke on this blog, I mentioned that I believe there is a chance Zeke is being genuine with working on Eldia’s side, but it wasn’t yet clear how much he wanted to include Paradis in the fruits of his potential “free the people” plan. Yeah, so, things have changed obviously. But not as drastically as I was led to believe after chapter 112. By ch113, I figured there was more to the story with Zeke, since it seemed that his intentions for escaping was based on a time restraint and the fact he couldn’t trust Levi in the end. Fortunately for his fans and unfortunately for Zeke, Levi’s plot armor saved him this time. Only for fate to be teased once more! Ugh!

I’m going to give a few super brief hot takes that I posted before but Tumblr decided to throw it into the abyss the first time. This is going to be the least analytical and organized list I’ve ever written so be kind:

Finally, a flashback chapter of the most mysterious guy in this series

…AND HE’S CUTE!?

Oh my god.

Grisha and Dina are not the worst parents nor bad people but hell if they aren’t misguided, radical, and negligent of their only son.

This gives me middle school flashbacks.

I didn’t expect Zeke to suck at military training, to be honest. They really did just call him a child prodigy for his miracle abilities and the fact he betrayed his parents.

Which I don’t entirely blame him anymore…if it wasn’t his free decision, he was influenced by a replacement nurturing parental figure to do it. Ouch.

I was mad when these spoilers came out but now it makes sense why this is Zeke’s motive.

I’m pretty confident Eren is double crossing Zeke now.

Zeke is not dead. Levi is not dead. Splash text is clickbait.

I don’t even think Levi lost any arms, but we won’t know until 2 or 3 chapters from now. Hope he knows how to swim!

For wordy rambling, please read on--

As most of the fandom assumed, this chapter was going to be primarily a flashback containing Zeke’s childhood. And it’s a heavy reveal that spirals into his present-day motives. It opens up with another scene that illustrates exactly how mistreated and disrespected Eldians are, the janitor going so far as to question why they are “breeding” for more devils. This is unsurprisingly traumatizing to Zeke and those words are the seeds that flourish the plant of self-hatred soon to wreak havoc. On the other hand, Grisha vents his frustrations and feeds the idea that their only salvation is to be free from their internment. They have barely enough freedom to leave their residence and to do so require legal permission. At this point, we’re familiar enough with how Marley reacts to Eldians both in the past and present day and those views haven’t changed no matter the year. The story makes us aware that other nations prefer the race to be eradicated whereas Marley’s action is to keep them controlled, though of course there are people who support the former option. It’s demeaning enough to be ostracized but threatened with genocidal wishes from the general public induces a lot of paranoia and, in the Restorationists’ case, rage.

Zeke is considerably mellow though. There is no contempt because he’s too busy appeasing his parents. He struggles with his training and falls far too short from the other warrior candidates. But he is nothing but loyal to Grisha and Dina, even lying to his grandparents about how his father lectures him about their history. Zeke uniquely gets two different teachings, but interestingly we don’t see him doubting either of them. He seems to absorb more of what Grisha is saying, but doesn’t confess that to his grandparents, and simply nods and follows along to whatever is being read to him. Most of his anxiety is reaching the expectation of becoming a warrior like his parents wanted.

His parents don’t make it a mystery to Zeke that him becoming a warrior is part of their restoration plan. It’s not out of glory or that they want to best for him, but he is already exposed to the group as the one to save them all, a beacon of hope that the whole of the Eldian race depends on.

Of course, with the pressure on, Zeke cannot make the cut. A mix of physical weakness and mental turmoil has Magath questioning Zeke’s integrity. This brings him trailing behind his comrades, defeated, only to run into one of the current warriors playing catch with himself. This is where we get a first glimpse of Zeke’s hidden pitching talent. Tom Xaver, the current Beast Titan whose main job is a titan science researcher, is impressed and Zeke illuminates.

I know he murdered hundreds in very unkind ways, but it is a canon fact he is adorable.

Afterwards, Grisha, Dina, and their restorationist friend Grice become stressed with the fact Zeke isn’t performing to acceptable standards to even qualify to be a candidate of the warrior program, let alone having the chance to harness one of the titans. Zeke overhears this and is taken back by the urgency. Grisha takes notice and attempts to encourage his son by saying he is special and therefore he can succeed.

Immediately follows probably one of the most depressing, soul-crushing pages that doesn’t include death (unless you count the death of Grisha and Dina’s faith in their son). You don’t have to like Zeke to feel a twinge of relatability when he nearly breaks down from watching his parents turn away in disappointment. It’s the worst kind of rejection because there is no improving something you simply cannot do and don’t truly have a passion for, even if you fight tooth and nail for it.

Xaver comments on Zeke’s atrocious training attempt and Zeke admits that his parents are the reason he has to become a warrior. Xaver loosely describes the “perks” of being a warrior: harness unbelievable power, fight in wars, and die in 13 years by the teeth of your successor. Avoiding that fate doesn’t grant much freedom, but to Zeke, staying alive for as long as possible is good enough. To survive is fine. He doesn’t need to fight to be free.

Naturally, cruel circumstances bombarde Zeke’s world when he overhears that his parents are in serious danger of being discovered. He attempts to vere them to safer options so that they won’t be sent to Paradis, but Grisha and Dina immediately shut him down. Living in an oppressed system is damaging to their self-esteem. Revolution is necessary to change the world. Zeke is their golden ticket. There is a fatal risk to all this, but it is all for the name of their people. For those who died for trying to reach beyond their boundaries. Grisha omits his guilt over his sister’s death, saying what he wanted was simple. Did that deserve punishment? We already know his feelings about that, though.

Zeke on the other hand is convinced that it is all over for his family. The power others have over them is far greater than his parents can overcome. Xaver sees his distress and Zeke is quick to surrender any possibility of a long life, grateful he can hold onto memories of him as he eternally sleeps. Xaver is too fond of Zeke, though, and we learn he is the one who suggests Zeke turn in his parents in order to save himself and his grandparents. Zeke objects, of course, but it doesn’t take too long for Xaver to convince him that his parents cared more about their agenda than their child’s happiness and wellbeing. And then that all happens.

Several years pass, and Zeke has gone from adorable to totally handsome.

Err...and he has become a successor to the Beast Titan. He’s woven a close bond with this man to know progressions concerning his research. A lot of it is information we already know but to them it’s a mix of theory and hearsay. The new bit of information we gather is the theory that the Founding Titan can manipulate Eldian’s genetic makeup based on paths alone. It’s what has saved them from plagues in the past. Zeke recalls the janitor that harassed him and his parents years ago, and laments on the idea that the Founder can also prevent more Eldians from being born.

Xaver reacts somber over this concept. He confesses that he used to have a family under disguise as a Marleyan. It wasn’t until after his wife found out and killed herself and their son out of shame and disgust that he ultimately decided to become a warrior-- so he could die in the most glorified way possible, I guess? In that time, he was dedicated to his research more than anything, but overall expressed he virtually replaced the void in his heart with Zeke’s presence, which explains why he was so important to him. It’s kind of touching that they both found each other to fill in roles that were empty in their lives. Xaver still exhibits a great deal of self-hatred, something that Zeke can relate to. At this point, he declares his motive of taking the Beast Titan, recovering the Founder, and stop the cycle of suffering by effectively ending the existence of Eldians altogether. It’s...certainly a goal, albeit a method of giving in to their circumstances and accepting that they cannot fight against this oppression, so that the best thing to actually do is not exist. Because no matter what they do, to exist is to suffer, and what kind of life is that?

The flashback closes with Levi overhearing Zeke mutter that the only salvation for Eldia is their euthanasia, and that all the deaths he is responsible for was a method of setting them free. Of course, Levi doesn’t buy it and prepares for another round of Chopped. Zeke appears to be only partially lucid when he shouts for his dead mentor to watch his next move.

In a matter of seconds, Zeke jerks the string that pulls the fuse and Levi looks to try to make a quick escape. Zeke risks it all in an explosion that splits his body in parts, though it looks like his neck and head are still intact. Meanwhile, Levi is blown back a distance with some blood trailing from his body due to ambiguous injuries. And there is our cliffhanger of the volume!

I know I basically just summarized the chapter with some flavor additions, but there are a few things that drove me to a pit of emotions and questions during the spoiler drop. Context from the fully translated chapter fixed a lot of my primary thoughts.

The Zekecrets

First big gain from this chapter is Zeke’s motive! Finally, the zekecret is out! And it’s rooted from a traumatic childhood and is buzzing with controversy. I can’t say I agree with Zeke’s idea of ending the Eldian race by sterilizing them and killing those that he can. But I will say that considering his experiences as a child and that discussion with Xaver had inspired this motive and, therefore, makes a lot of sense. We’ve seen Zeke as a kind of chessmaster with many tricks up his sleeve yet was a shroud of mystery. He has killed without mercy, he has betrayed his country, and he has turned that people he claimed to protect into Titans. But to him, these deaths are convenient and align to his ultimate goal.

It’s honestly hard to believe that a character that has convinced people that his empathy level is so low that he barely even forms any attachments (as evidence with his betrayal) started off as an extremely sensitive and emotionally intelligent child. His confidence is constantly challenged because of his blood from both sides. His parents put him on a pedestal because his relation to them is what makes him special and therefore he must succeed. On the other front, he is subjected to harsh ostracization from the general Marleyan public for simply being Eldian. And at training, being the weaker of the child soldiers, he is put down by instructors and his trainee peers. And even so, he still finds a bit of salvation in learning how to pitch while having some close conversation with a kind stranger. Where he can’t find affection and acceptance in one area, he finds it in Xaver.

Still, the reality is that he is given these expectations that he himself simply has no strong drive to achieve nor the physical strength. He presses on for the sake of his parents, but only his success will gain their acceptance and...he is unable to do it. I think the most heartbreaking thing about this is that he accepts that he is somewhat of a tool for their agenda yet he sticks his neck out in hopes that he gets affectionate attention from his parents. The fact he watches a child play ball with their father on his way home show that it’s an attention he craves because he doesn’t receive it often. Even when he knows they are soon to get caught, Zeke’s first instinct is to say his goodbyes and surrender to whatever fate has in store for him. To him, he is useless to carve his own path. He has failed his parents, the Restorationists, the whole Eldian race, and himself.

Parenting Contrast: Grisha&Dina v Carla

I do briefly want to say that I don’t think Grisha and Dina were bad people, they are bad (not worst) parents and were too radicalized in their beliefs to realize that their son was emotionally struggling with self-esteem issues. Anything they knew about Zeke was very on the surface. Their priority was the revolution. They manufactured a child for this due to their ignorance and anger. But I don’t think they didn’t care about Zeke at all. Zeke, to them, was to gain just as much of a positive outcome and life of freedom if he succeeded. They were never aware of the pressure they put on Zeke. Grisha later assumed that their negligence was the reason for Zeke’s betrayal and he never blames him for it.

Ironically, though, Eren is the appropriate child Grisha could have had for his revolution before it rapidly failed. Second time’s the charm? This is likely due to Eren’s lack of responsibility. There were no dire expectations until later in his life. Carla parented opposite of Dina and Grisha, believing that not everyone has to be special to be great. Eren had more options open to him.

Regardless, I don’t think Grisha quite parented the same way as he did with Zeke, but it may have been a bit difficult to keep reactions to certain circumstances subtle. I don’t know if we’ll ever get more insight about why Eren used to be a weird loner kid that followed life through “the strong conquer the weak” system. I just have a sneaking suspicion that it’s due to indirect mimicking of Grisha’s behavior. After all, a real issue in this series are ignorant adults. Or sometimes kids are just weird and easily influenced. Unfortunately, in the end, Grisha does resort back to pressing responsibility on his second son, most likely because of their dire situation and Eren’s willingness to break free. Because Eren is his son, of course.

Bit by bit, however, Zeke seems to be progressively aware of the obsession his parents have over their revolution plan. They spend very little time with him, so he is often spending time with his grandparents, effectively keeping the cover up for his parents. And any time they do spend with him is spent reversing the studies he has learned at school. Zeke accepts the lessons but isn’t enthused. I mentioned that he doesn’t really seem to question which history is correct and which isn’t; he doesn’t cast doubts on either and it’s difficult to say whether Grisha’s teachings were ones he felt were more accurate or that he was just parroting in order to gain approval. A majority of his interactions with his parents are “yes” and nods.

When Xaver comes into the picture and Zeke projects him as a father figure, he becomes more aware of his parents’ actions. Which is why I don’t think it was especially a struggle for Zeke to believe Xaver when he told him that his parents don’t really care about him and that it’ll be worth selling them out if it means he and his grandparents get to live. Zeke is very good at shutting down his emotions at this moment. He is, however, not without heart though, because he continues to nurture that fondness for Xaver, who he is later a successor to. In fact, he is the reason why Zeke entertains the idea that Eldians should stop reproducing.

The Plan and is Eren actually part of this?

This is where things get controversial, of course. On one hand, technically, no longer existing means that they would no longer have to suffer. Zeke says those on Paradis are ignorant to what the world has in store for them. This isn’t to buy more time to properly unite with other nations, it was time to stop reproduction altogether and (probably) eliminate the Eldians on Paradis. To Zeke it’s merciful to end this. But it’s still genocide. And I don’t believe this is the ultimate answer nor do I believe Eren is actually going to end up accepting this plan.

Unlike Zeke, Eren grew up with an everlasting flame that urged him to seek freedom in every format. Freedom of his environment, freedom of his choices, etc. He too gets weighed down by crushing expectations, becoming something of a tool for the military and government to achieve victory, but it is something that he genuinely wants. Included, he still had the compassion of his comrades. He wished them long lives. He believes that people deserve to live simply by being born into the world. Their existence gives them the right to freedom. It gives them a chance to fight. Sterilization is a big surrender. Death and prevention of life, robbing that choice from others, is completely contradicting to anything Eren has ever learned, said, or believed in. And I think his reaction to Willy’s words at the festival is a key indicator that his intention is to keep the Eldians alive. I’m not sure how far ahead Eren is in terms of double crossing his brother, but at the very least, I think that if he knows Zeke’s true intentions, he has found or is finding a way to skirt around that option and use Zeke for his own plans.

I plan to write a progression meta theorizing Eren’s motives that edits and re-publishes with every reveal in each chapter but basically my guess is that Eren does know what Zeke wants and that he has been playing along with Zeke’s orchestrated plan, festival, Warhammer Titan, prisonbreak, etc. to earn loyalty points. Which unfortunately included him killing innocents in the process. But if Zeke really does believe their deaths are their true freedom, then Eren has to convince Zeke that he believe the same too. Doesn’t mean he hasn’t internally struggled as a result. But for now, Eren’s individual thoughts remain an enigma so it’s difficult to pinpoint his exact intentions at the moment.

Explosive (haha) End

Anyway, the other big thing was Zeke’s dramatic escape act which required an enormous explosion and the splitting of his own body. Uh, yuck! But I can’t help but feel a bit tickled that we actually have a panel with Zeke’s detached ass in the air. His torso, including his neck and head, are more or less together, so he can easily pull off the Reiner trick to implant his brain to elsewhere on the nervous system so that he can regenerate from there. So, yeah, Zeke will be fine. And probably pantless if he can’t recover his lower half.

Levi, on the other hand, has no regenerating powers and appears pretty injured if the blood splattering off his body is anything to go by. He wasn’t as close to the explosion, so it’s possible any injuries he sustained are because of the shooting debris and/or his sword, which he still had out in front guarding his body prior to the fuse going off. I remember when the first grainy image of this panel came out and everyone was zooming in and tracing areas to figure out if Levi lost anything. I think it’s consensus now that Levi has both legs intact and at the very least his left arm. The only big question is whether his right arm is there and any other injuries on his torso or face that may exist. If you want my personal visual analysis and theory, I think his injuries are not fatal nor crippling, meaning all his limbs are intact, but he probably has decent sized gashes on his body to have him temporarily side-lined. I think the angle of the drawing and multiple gradients to indicate fast motion and blood direction is meant to give the reader uncertainty but in the end it’ll reveal that nothing was lost. At least, I hope so. It would be absolutely disheartening and irresponsible to put him out of commission for the rest of the series and the rest of his life-- I think out of all the suffering Levi has gone through, he definitely doesn’t deserve to feel completely useless to do anything, Plus it’d be extremely underwhelming to set your strongest and most popular character on the bench before the big climax.

I will say that Levi is definitely not dead, though. None of the notable deaths we’ve seen have been obscured by body angles. They’ve been explicitly shown without debate on their status, Erwin and Sasha especially. I believe the only off-screen deaths the series has had was Moblit and Ymir, and even then the scenes before then leave you no doubt to their inevitable fate. Even Marco eventually got a scene of his death. And neither of these deaths happened as cliffhangers. But false death cliffhangers have always been a thing in the series. Plus, I think Levi is far more deserving of a multi-panel, half chapter death scene if he were to die at all.

I do think he will land in the river and those injuries will prevent him from fighting effectively against the current to stay in his location. I believe the convenient landscape was rather deliberate as it gives Zeke enough time and lonesomeness to recover and seek Eren. Really, the explosion was an excuse to remove Levi from the scene and quickly be transported elsewhere. But I want to bet we won’t find out Levi’s fate for another couple chapters. Because Isayama is just that cruel!

....

Sorry this got extensive. I’m still building up on these thoughts, so nothing is definite or without possibility of change. But to summarize, Zeke’s childhood is sad, his plan is genocide and Eren ain’t about that life, Yeagerbros are dramatic people and forever interesting to me, and Levi is alive and battered but not handicapped.

That said, I would love to hear from everyone else about what they thought of the chapter. Were you sympathetic to Zeke’s backstory? Is he irredeemable? What’s Eren’s role in all this? Does he actually subscribe to Zeke’s scheme of eliminating all Eldians to end their suffering, or does he have other tricks up his sleeve? Is Levi alive? How bad are his injuries? Does he know how to swim?

Will I ever recover from the emotional rollercoaster this chapter has put me though?

Thanks for sending this ask! I haven’t meta’d in a while and this honestly is inspiring to write again!

#zeke yeager #eren yeager #grisha yeager #dina yeager #carla yeager #levi ackerman #tom xaver #meta #analysis #theory #chapter reaction #my post #Anonymous

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chocobostrinket · 6 years

Text

Lost & Found

Prompt: Family

Day: September 10th

Platonic Aranea/Loqi, Platonic Cor/Loqi, or Cor/Loqi

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3027

Warnings: Implied deep depression, implied emotional child neglect, implied violence.

Summary: Loqi’s family situation shifted from his actual blood family, to his idea of loyalty to the emperor being his family, to basically adopting Aranea as an older sibling along with Biggs and Wedge, and eventually the strange relationship he has with Cor. He reflects on this, along with the constant depression that’s been present throughout his life.

Also posted on AO3.

Loqi sniffled in his seat. Not because he was crying, but because his nose was still bleeding, and he dared not get the blood on his uniform. A glower was aimed at the secretary of his school, the one responsible for calling his father. And in turn she only gave him a smug look, as if proud that she might see one of the proud Tummelts in trouble. Even if said Tummelt was only 13.

Meanwhile, the boy who had started the fight was currently on his way to the nearest medical facility. Loqi had, regrettably, broken the boy’s wrist after he had thrown the first punch. Allowed him to make him bleed so he could justifiably call it self-defense. He was after all, the smaller of the two, and could be called the weaker based on that alone. But his father…

Well, his father would know better. He’d been the one who’d taught him after all.

Loqi could hear the door of the school open in the distance then, thanks to the echoing halls. A heavy sigh left him, and he braced himself with every step of his father’s boots he heard. When the door to the office opened, he stood up straight and allowed his face to relax into something neutral. His father only glanced at him, and then at the secretary.

“Your reason for calling me here?” He said simply, his tone ensuring he got only a straight answer.

“Your son was involved in an altercation.” She said, also rising to her feet. She held her head up, as if sure she was just in calling his father here from the Emperor’s side.

She explained that a fight had broken out. But she neglected to mention that the other boy had started it, or why they had started fighting at all. Just that Loqi had broken the boy’s wrist. He managed to keep his face stoic through her run down of events, but he couldn’t help the slight tensing of his shoulders when his father leveled his gaze at him.

He looked at his face, as if searching for a lie before it could even leave Loqi’s mouth. His silence scared Loqi, making his father seem larger than he was, like a creature coiling for a killing strike. More than once, when he was younger, had he been on the receiving end of his father’s strikes. Honestly, the boy’s punch was nothing compared to his training sessions.

“Loqi. What happened?”

He sounded so calm, but Loqi, from experience could hear the traces of anger in his voice.

“Sir,” He started, his voice level, “Dean from class 7 started the fight. He claimed that the emperor’s health would fail him soon, and that his family was closer in line to the throne than ours.”

At that his father seemed to settle back into his bones, but not entirely. “And?”

“I told him the emperor was far from being ill, and had named his successor already, whom house Tummelt would serve to our greatest ability, as we always have, and would hold no claim over the throne no matter what.” He said, reciting part of his family’s oath. “I also said that he should watch his words, as one could take what he said as a threat upon the emperor from his family if he wasn’t careful.”

His father’s eyes narrowed, but he was appeased. Though ire was still present in his voice, just no longer directed at Loqi.

“And then what occurred?”

“Dean punched me.” Loqi said it simply, not realizing that his nose, though the bleeding had slowed, hadn’t stopped. “So I reacted to it as a threat to myself, as the future of house Tummelt.”

He knew he was laying it on rather thick with the family loyalty stuff, but part of him did want nothing more to uphold the honor his family had won for generation after generation. Plus, his father seemed satisfied with the explanation.

Loqi sort of mentally checked out then, glad he’d managed to direct his father’s anger at someone other than himself. And his father was upset that clearly his school was seeking to pin the blame on Loqi for the whole ordeal. The secretary’s face was no longer smug, but slowly sinking into placating and apologetic. He wasn’t paying attention at that point, letting his father get the anger out of his system without interrupting.

He was only pulled out of his thoughts only when his father pressed his handkerchief under his nose. Loqi looked up at his father, the brief thought of how he’d never catch up to his height passing through his mind, and made a questioning noise.

“Come Loqi. We’re going home.”

Loqi lifted his hand and took over on holding the cloth under his nose. “Yes father.”

He followed his father’s quick pace, taking two steps for every one of his fathers, and didn’t complain. It was only when they were in their car, with the MT designated to them by the emperor driving, that his father spoke again.

“I think it’s time we moved you out of the civilian school system.” His father seemed to mull something over, and then continued, “You’ve already proven that you understand what is being asked of our family. As such, you’ve proven ready for the next phase of your life.”

Loqi’s heart rate sped up, and he said, “Yes father.”

That could only mean one thing. He’d be placed into the military program, presumably the fast track like all Tummelts. Literally, something he’d been raised for all his life. But it was mildly concerning when he realized that he’d probably be the youngest Tummelt in history to go into the program. However, he didn’t dare to question his father. (Though part of him did wonder if his father was rushing him into the program for some other reason.)

He’d be made into a weapon for the empire. And while he was already considered advanced for his age, he knew that they’d hammer him into a prodigy in his own right. Equal parts dread, and excitement filled him. And for once, his father looked proud of Loqi. But only for a moment.

He then turned away from his son and looked out the window, watching the passing landscape instead.

He’d just turned 15, in the middle of sparring with some of the best instructors available for his fighting style, inside one of the empire’s numerous training facilities, when he received word.

“Loqi Tummelt.” A voice called from over his left shoulder, and he quickly snapped around and saluted on instinct.

“Sir.”

Ravus, the once prince of Tenebrae and current officer of the military, stalked closer to him, stopping only a few feet away. He’d always liked him. Ravus, though he’d been softer than Loqi had ever been allowed, soon enough had become a renown soldier. However, at the moment he seemed to look Loqi up and down. Or maybe he was searching for a way to start whatever he had to say. Loqi couldn’t tell. But then he simply stated what he came there for.

“Your father has fallen, listing you as his only heir.” Ravus paused, assessing Loqi’s facial expression undoubtedly. But when it remained unchanging, he continued, “Your house retainers shall take over his duties, until you reach the age necessary for you to assume responsibility of them.”

Loqi stood still, unchanging, almost as if he was paralyzed. At that moment, it felt like a stone was sinking down into his stomach, one made of intense dislike of Ravus. Simply for the fact he was the one telling him of his father’s death. And perhaps, the tactical side of his brain whispered, the emperor had planned for this result. It made sense, for him not to like a former royal of a conquered territory. The Tummelts were made to serve the emperor after all. Better to not risk the only heir of the house turning traitor for the sake of something silly like friendship.

“Lord Tummelt, do you understand what I’m saying?” Ravus asked, his face also unchanging, but there was concern in his eyes. Loqi had just become unresponsive for a time after all. (And it deeply bothered him, just how young Loqi really was.)

However, it was the concern in Ravus’s eyes that pulled him back. He snapped back into his body and nodded.

“Yes. I understand,” he said mechanically, “Will that be all?”

“Yes. Yes it is.” Ravus said, and he watched as Loqi returned to his sparring.

And if he noticed the 15-year-old was more vicious from then on, he said nothing.

A few months after that, he returned home. Home, where his father would never return. Where his mother had passed away from illness. Where he was alone, aside from those who now worked for him. There was a horrible hollow feeling in his chest. He’d felt it before as a child, but never to this extent.

He didn’t like it.

Part of him debated on asking Ravus, now a respected colleague and no more, to send for Lady Lunafreya. To see if she could pull what could only be described as sickness from his heart. But in the end he didn’t. Rather, he went into his father’s study and summoned his father’s- no, his retainers to him. To teach him the paper work and responsibilities his father had left him and let himself be lost in that work for a while.

But it wasn’t enough.

Soon enough, once he was proficient enough in his responsibilities, he requested an audience with the emperor and requested to be sent to war.

“I want to serve as my father did, in service to you and your glory.” He said, arm crossed over his sternum and bowed at the waist.

The emperor laughed, but it wasn’t cruel. Rather, it was one of fondness. “And so, his son is already prepared to swear his service and don his mantle. Your father did not lie when he said that you might be the brightest mind to come from house Tummelt.”

The Emperor hummed, seemingly in thought. But then answered. “Granted. You’ll start your new duties in a week. See to it that you finish all necessary paperwork and ensure that your responsibilities will be seen to while you’re away.”

“Thank you, your radiance.” He said in reply, truly meaning his gratitude. Knowing that he would be away from home, and risking his life, somehow made the hollowness recede. If only a little. “House Tummelt, as always, lives for the glory of the empire.”

With that, he was dismissed and immediately went to work doing as the emperor asked.

“My name’s Loqi Tummelt. Pleasure to be working with you.” He nodded his head to the woman he’d be working with for the next few months. Behind him stood one of his combat trainers, simply here to observe his actions and report back how he handles himself in live combat. So, he didn’t introduce himself.

“Shiva’s frosty ass, they sent us a kid.” Aranea shook her head and turned away, a strange look on her face. “Well. As long as you can keep up Tummelt. Name’s Aranea. Welcome to the crew.”

With her, he settled into himself. Her men became people he could trust unreservedly. They’d talk long into the day, and then greet the night and find the demons that were required. He threw himself into battle after battle, with each one becoming more and more alive. But it would always recede back into hollowness.

It was also with her that he first felt defeat.

With gasping breaths, and blood pounding in his ears, he fell to his knees.

They had been separated. Ordered to assist a frontal assault mission gone wrong. Aranea was off fighting with simple soldiers of Lucis. He on the other hand, ended up locked in battle with the immortal. He hadn’t meant to, at first. He and his trainer were just supposed to slip away from battle, and stay out of sight of Cor. But then something burned inside him, making him the hotheaded and headstrong kid he wasn’t supposed to be. He wanted to fight him. And before he knew it, he’d shouted at him, challenging him and throwing himself at the man while his trainer tried to talk some sense into him.

It hadn’t ended well of course.

He used his sword to hold himself up, not willing to endure the embarrassment of falling forward. Before him walked Cor the immortal, face just as blank as his was. However, their eyes held different emotions. Loqi never felt so alive, even with what he was sure was death walking toward him. Death on the immortal’s sword was an honorable one. The only thing he regretted was that his house would end with him.

But the hollowness was gone.

He glared upward at the man, and watched as he raised his sword, never breaking eye contact. But then, to both their surprise, he lowered his blade and replaced it in its sheath. He then leveled a stare at him that slightly unnerved Loqi.

Loqi was used to being able to read people. But the emotions buzzing in his chest after years of not feeling them made him unable to focus enough, so the strange look in Cor’s eyes scared him a little. But he only responded to that feeling with a glare. However, Cor’s gaze seemed like he could see through all of Loqi’s bullshit. That thought made Loqi both angry and hopeful in equal amounts.

(Please, please let someone see the hollow thing eating me.)

But the Cor shattered that hope.

“You shouldn’t charge in so recklessly. That’s the quickest way to be killed.” He said.

He’d left then, ignoring the insults that Loqi was screaming at his back. He was angry, upset about the small hope he’d felt, after years of feeling empty, being stripped away so callously. It was then, right after Cor was out of sight and Loqi finally allowed himself to collapse, that he swore that Cor would die by his hand.

Because how dare he give him that hope.

When he awoke, he was in one of Aranea’s camps. The battle was over and already the hollow feeling was back. She revealed that his trainer was killed by Cor after he’d passed out. But when she said it, she didn’t look at him. Her eyes were on the floor, but she was glaring. As if the words she said tasted bad in her mouth. She was lying. Cor had walked away.

But he said nothing and agreed to write his report on what happened. He left out that he’d seen Cor leave, and was pronounced proficient for combat since he’d outlived his trainer on the field.

Soon enough, once that was settled, months turned into years with Aranea, two to be precise. And eventually, when the hollowness came back and became too much to bear, he handed in a request for a general’s position.

To his surprise he was promoted and assigned to frontline assault rather than simple demon collection, with his own battalion of MTs to command. And when he left her side, he briefly entertained the thought that she must act like an older sister does, and thanked her for everything.

He becomes known for being reckless, but deadly on the battlefield. Headstrong, and able to stand up to the marshal.

(He begins to think that the Marshal, judging by the advice he leaves him with after every battle, one day wishes to be killed by him.)

He sat on the walls of Lestallum late at night, staring out into the darkness. A soft sigh left him. The feeling of hollowness was worse than ever before. He felt cold. He’d always thought it was just the ice around Gralea that made him cold, or the altitude of the airships. But no. Even here on the ground, in arguably the warmest place in the world, his hands were like ice, and he could barely suppress the shiver in his shoulders from making itself known.

“Loqi?”

Cor’s voice came from behind him, and when Loqi turned, he placed a hand on his shoulder. Loqi’s eyes flickered to his hand and then back up to his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched, and that was all the sign that Cor needed these days. His hand ever so slightly tightened on Loqi’s shoulder, meant to reassure, but also keep him from ‘falling’ off the wall. He then guided him away from where he sat and made sure to stand between him and the edge.

As if Loqi would be so dramatic as to fling himself off the wall.

Cor had been the first one to broach the topic, with Aranea being unable to, no matter how she wished. She had explained his tendencies. His actions. His moods. His thought processes. And Cor had pieced it together. Loqi didn’t feel hollow. Cor said disassociating was common in soldiers, especially ones who had started as young as they had. And that was only a small piece of it.

He also explained why Loqi only ever felt alive when in danger, and Loqi had hated him for a while for it.

But now, when they got down from the wall, Cor took his hands, holing them between his own. Occasionally, he’d blow on them, trying to warm them with his breath. It worked for his hands, and he felt less cold. But also, Loqi noticed that when he did this for him, the place in his chest didn’t feel so hollow anymore.

A hint of warmth was there now as well.

“Come on Loqi, let’s go find Aranea. Maybe she’ll share some of that Tenebraen whiskey she found.” Cor suggested. And while Loqi couldn’t bring himself to talk just yet, he nodded.

He didn’t follow Cor, but rather Cor matched his steps, so he wasn’t forced to try and keep up with the taller man. And upon reaching the barracks where they called home, Aranea, Biggs, and Wedge were there to welcome him.

#ffxvloqiweek #Loqi #Cor #Platonic things #fluff #implied depression #I wanted to post this as soon as I was able! :D #writing #writings #EEEEEEEE I'm so excited for this week.

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tigerlover16-uk · 7 years

Note

So, here's something just for fun. Do you think you could come up with your own backstories and/or some personal life details for some of the new characters in the tournament of power?

Ooh, here‘s something different. Alright then, here‘s some ideas:

General Kahseral: Kahseral was born in a galaxy on the far edge of Universe 11, where most of the planets were being run by tyrannical governments, the Pride Troopers not really having the time to do anything about it for a time due to being busy in other parts of the universe.

A fighting prodigy and strategic genius, Kahseral joined up with an organization of freedom fighters to topple the tyrannical governments and put up new ruling systems in their place, to liberate the people of his galaxy and improve their lives. With him leading the charge, Kahseral’s freedom fighters overthrew most of the ruling governments, but on the verge of total galactic conquest the Pride Troopers finally arrived and Kahseral was confronted and defeated in battle by Toppo.

Toppo took Kahseral back to one of the planets his group had previously conquered, and revealed to him that his fellow “Freedom Fighters” had actually been setting up even MORE tyrannical governments in the place of the ones they’d toppled right under Kahseral’s nose. with the intent to betray Kahseral when he’d fulfilled his purpose for them.

Devastated at all the damage he’d unwittingly helped cause, Kahseral joined Toppo and the Pride Troopers in overthrowing Kahseral’s old organisation, as well as the few remaining tyrannical governments. Belmod and Khai would proceed to re-organize the governments of the galaxy into something more functional.

Feeling repentant and wanting desperately to do some real good in the universe, Kahseral begged Toppo to allow him a place among the Pride Troopers to repent for his sins. Toppo readily accepted, and Kahseral has gone on to become one of the Pride Troopers stand out members ever since.

Toppo: Toppo was the son of two of the universe’s most reviled super villains, and the arch-enemies of the Pride Troopers former leader (A red ranger parody). During one final confrontation with them, the Pride Trooper was forced to kill the villains in a last ditch act of self-defense, to his regret. Soon after, he discovered baby Toppo in a crib in a sealed off room in the base.

Feeling guilty about what he’d had to do, the hero decided to raise Toppo as an apprentice. Though he tried to keep some level of distance, feeling he didn’t deserve to be considered the boy’s father after what he’d done, Toppo nonetheless looked up to his master as a parent, and everyone could see that the bond was mutual.

Toppo trained under the leader of the Pride Troopers all his life. During his late teens however, a ferocious giant monster (A Goldar homage) attacked one of the universes most densely inhabited planets. Half of the currently serving pride troopers were either brutalized or slaughtered in the retaliation and evacuation efforts, Toppo himself being severely injured.

Desperate to end the carnage and save the rest of the civilians, Toppo’s master gave Toppo one last speech about the values of heroism, protecting the innocent and telling Toppo “Never let the flames of justice in your heart burn out”, before charging the rampaging monster, destroying it completely with one last suicidal attack.

Toppo was left utterly devastated by these events. But also filled with determination to uphold the values his beloved master had fought for. Toppo continued to serve among the Pride Troopers for many more years, eventually working his way up to become the teams leader, and impressing Belmod enough for the God of Destruction to appoint him his chosen successor.

Though Toppo suffered a bout of depression and PTSD from the events involving his master’s death, he has since mostly overcome his issues through intense therapy over the years. He also tends to take any kind of failure extremely personally as a result, and his greatest fear is failing to protect the innocent and those close to him.

Ganos: Ganos was an orphan on a backwater planet in universe 4. He is descended from a race of extremely powerful people who can control the element of lightning, most of whom were the victim of genocide on their planet from religious fanatics. Ganos’s parents were some of the few survivors, but his father succumb to illness and his mother died when he was very young.

As a result, Ganos mostly grew up on the streets under the care of an old Hobo, who taught him the arts of deception and thievery. When Ganos was 13, his caretaker was murdered by a gang of mafia-esque thugs embroiled in a turf war in his city. Devastated and enraged, Ganos activated his transformed state for the first time, murdering the crooks and going on to destroy their entire gang with an enormous lightning bolt that could be seen from space.

Quitela caught wind of this, as he’d been searching for remnants of Ganos’ race to use their abilities for his own nefarious purposes. His angel realising that Ganos had a special mutation that made him far more potentially powerful than most of his race would have been, Quitela offered Ganos a position as one of his chief spies, which Ganos reluctantly agreed to after some encouragement mostly as it meant a steady source of food.

Ganos has served as a top lackey of Quitela ever since. Eventually encountering and becoming close friends with several of the other people that would eventually be on universe 4′s team for the Tournament of Power.

Katopesla: Katopesla was once an average member of the galactic patrol of universe 3, and a good friend of Nigrisshi and Paparoni, who regularly provided equipment and technical support for the police. One day, while trying to apprehend a dangerous criminal with explosion based powers, things went awry and the criminal crashed his space ship on an inhabited planet, right in the middle of a city.

Katopesla chased the criminal into a burning building, but unfortunately it ended up catching fire, and Katopesla and his squad quickly changed their objective to evacuating the civilians trapped inside. Katopesla was then seriously injured when said criminal ended up blasting him with a wave of pure flame, after he pushed a helpless dog that had tried attacking the criminal out of the way of the blast.

The criminal escaped, and Katopesla only barely clung onto life as his body was severely damaged and burned. Thankfully, Nigrisshi and Paparoni worked together to save his life by turning him into a cyborg, and also equipping Katopesla with a special transforming super suit.

Katopesla immediately set off after the criminal himself after recovery, defeating him easily with the speed and strength enhancing powers of his new suit. Katopesla would then go on to becoming the galaxy’s greatest policeman, saving many lives and defeating countless supervillains, earning him the title of universe 3′s champion of justice.

Katopesla also has a younger sister, a niece and a nephew who he is very close to. Said niece and nephew especially idolizing him as their hero. Katopesla is also currently engaged, with his wife-to-be expecting their first child in 6 months.

And, that’s all I got for now. Think I might come back to this later if I’ve got anything else for anyone. I’m guessing we’re not going to get a ton of backstory on most of the characters in the current saga, maybe only the few that’ll appear in later sagas. But it’s certainly fun to make up our own ideas, isn’t it?

#dragon ball super #dbs #toppo #ganos #katopesla #pride troopers #kahseral #dragon ball #tournament of power #universe survival saga #universe 11 #universe 4 #universe 3

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heseuscristo · 7 years

Text

Gunning for a Piece

Features human bodysuits and male to female gender bending.

You laid down your weapon against the milky bed sheet, its metallic lime coat reflecting snowy, almost viscous, waves. The weight of it dragged down the cloth all the way to its equally soft mattress, creating a depression on your bed. You glanced at the placed object. Strikingly similar to a nine millimeter handgun, the only offset that it wasn't the gunpowder variant were the neon colors in contrast to the default grayscale. That served to help, as wielding it in public gave the idea it was a simple prop or a child's water gun. Though, innocent as it looked, it wasn't an ordinary item that anyone could get their hands on. It was a gift from your older brother, a professional engineer who worked alongside the government and several scientists to produce the rough draft that was relaxing on your bed. He called it a costume gun, and one could say its capabilities were quite inhumane and illegal. The gun has a low range of three meters, but every shot is similar to a noiseless beam. Ammunition is finite, as the firearm is powered by electricity; you would have to send this back to your brother for a refill. Whoever is hit suffers no physical or mental damage, but instead becomes a human bodysuit, essentially a human body missing all of its innards. The suit has a straight opening on the back, allowing a person to crawl into the skin. It has a limit of one person at a time, so shooting another person when someone else has already become a suit would do nothing. Taking control of a human and having access to their life is quite illegal and intrusive, so your brother avoided this by deciding with his co-workers and higher authorities that to ensure the technology would be kept secret, the general public having no idea it existed and any models hopefully dispersed to the right hands. As an impressionable teenager, it was safe to say your rebellious nature and developing maturity was definitely a contradiction to putting the weapon in the right hands. But there were rules to kept people such as yourself at bay. For one, doing anything illegal inside the bodysuit would give the wearer a massive penalty. Another rule was that any currency spent would be from the one wielding the costume gun, meaning no foul play with anyone's funds. Telling any individual who has no affiliation with the innovators and thus does not know about the costume gun was also a strict regulation. You were limited to using the firearm in privacy, as publicly use would evidently cause panic. Lastly, it was important to not shoot yourself. Otherwise, someone else would have to use the gun to bring you back. If any of these rules were to be broken and caught on camera, you would have the costume gun taken away forever, be it your brother or the authorities. You didn't intend to cause harm with whoever you wore, but you knew not all people could be on their best behavior with this revolutionary tool. With all that set in stone, you threw yourself on the silky landscape and rested your arms above your head, making sure the gun or a stray pillow didn’t obstruct your landing. Staring at the concrete ceiling, your eyes trailed across the white ocean of stillness while afternoon sunshine illuminated the room with a golden glow. Your normal lifestyle would’ve had you stripped naked while taking naps in the middle of the summer, but today would not result in sleeping. “I'm not going to do anything illegal.” Your gentle, ladylike voice was left devoid of a response, sounding as polished as the bedsheets. Shifting your body to let your back face the ceiling, it was high time to get on to checking yourself out again. The girlish body mirror she had in her room would finely fulfill that task. One leg bent upward, dragging the blanket along to stretch out your tanned ass. It had the imprint of a one piece swimsuit, your female goods in stark contrast to your light-toned brown body. You raised your upper body to lift up small breasts out of the white terrain, moving your head upward in the process. Putting your left hand underneath your chin, you could finally see the body mirror that shamelessly reflected your vagina and its conspicuous labia. Though, the person in the mirror wasn't truly your own, original body. You weren't born as a girl, of course. The person in the mirror was your fellow classmate and first victim of the costume gun, her full name being Anya Khouri; it leaked of Egyptian root. The two of you barely interacted, but both parties knew of each other's existence. But how did you find her and safely turn her into a bodysuit? Simply put, she was also a victim of circumstance. The season of summer meant school was on a break, and Anya had a reputation of being a prodigy swimmer. Slender arms, despite their appearance, cut through chlorine waters easily to end every competition with her team's victory. A talent like that required honing, and the pool she constantly practiced in was coincidentally near your house. You and your friends would occasionally find yourselves there, as it was an unpopular spot due to a fabricated rumor of some sort of vengeful spirit haunting the premise. She must’ve taken the low visitor count to concentrate, as you would see her alone on a different lane every time your friend group arrived. Not only that, you two had exchanged addresses once for a school project, making impersonation easier to do. With those aspects in mind, she was the first person you thought of using the costume gun on. You planned a specific date and time to turn her into a suit, coming in during the weekdays before noon. Luckily, there were no poolside showers in the area, as it would conflict with what you had in mind. When the time to strike came, your plan came into fruition without any hurdles. Equipped with some basic swimming shorts and other necessities, you could fabricate the idea that you were genuinely planning to swim. You knew the lifeguard was always off this hour, but they wouldn’t have to worry about protecting a certain girl that always frequented there.

---

The clattering of caramel sandals protected your feet from scorching concrete as the pair made its way to an isolated lane. You stared blankly at the scenery ahead of you, soon focusing your attention on the teenager gliding through the water. Blazing sunbeams coated your body in sweat, and approaching a girl made your teenager hormones shudder. Nevertheless, you stuck yourself back to the plan. All of your belongings were safeguarded in a locker, leaving you with what could be fit inside the pocket of trunks. “Hey! Can I ask you something?” You did your best to play the part of a naïve, boisterous teenager. On the other side, you could see that Anya looked back to see the voice. Dressed in her black school swimsuit, her head rose from the water to respond. “Y-yes?” Her feet wove through the pool, keeping her perfectly afloat. She had taken off her goggles and swim cap, revealing the feminine beauty underneath. “You’re Anya, right? Don't we go to the same high school?” Building up a peaceful conversation was your idea of lessening your hesitation. “Yes.” Her answer was lower this time, but you paid little attention as you finally got to the point. “Well, I was just wondering, do you know where the public showers are?” The idea was to be chaperoned by her to that distant place and use the gun. You already knew how close it was from your position and had been there multiple times, so now you were praying she didn’t she you during any of those. “Oh, you would take a left, then a right, and—” “Ah, I'm not really good at that direction stuff. Can you take me there?” “I could take a break, I guess.” She quickly brought herself out of the water, deciding not to use a towel to dry off. Her suntanned skin welcomed the heat, glistening from the pellets of clear water. It would’ve been easier on her to reject your plea for help, but she was a model athlete. You could see her bend down to grab something, but the distance was too far for your eyes. Now that the hard part was done, all you needed to do was let the tide flow. Letting her come towards you, once you met up you stayed behind her as she slowly paced her way there. You had seen her body now and then, but thinking of how the small figure you were following would soon become your own sparked some surreal thoughts. Not once did you think about what could happen to your body, and if you somehow lost the costume gun. As you lost yourself in thought, it wasn’t long before you reached the facility. The building was given some attention to make it sanitary, as the white tile floor had the reflection of cleanliness. Two open doors split both genders, and Anya gestured you towards the men's showers. “Here we are.” She waited for you to speak, but you were finalizing that the two of you were alone by scanning your surroundings. “Hello?” “Sorry, blanked out. Thanks.” You looked to see a pair of uncomfortable eyes. She was never one to take the lead. “It's fine.” With that, the two of you proceeded to head back to the pool, her steps bringing tremors to the burning ground. In the heat of the moment, you loudly pulled out the costume gun and shot at her. She was mere feet away from your blast as it coated her in a vibrant aura, which began to sap away at her life. The last thing she would remember would be her sudden collapse onto the floor as her entire body crumbled, creating a flat heap of a former human. It may have lost all life, but sweat and chlorine water still stuck on her skin. A soft clang of metal echoed throughout your ears, and it wasn't until later that you realized she was carrying the locker key. “Well, I'll be damned if that's not terrifying.” You really had no expectations for what would occur, but seeing a human fall apart like a balloon was quite the sight. It seemed like minutes had passed before you had the nerve to holster the gun back into your pocket and hold up the wrinkled skin on your palms. You feel the core temperature that was active seconds ago, as well as sweaty beads of chlorine on her body. Her swimming gear had fallen on the ground too, so you piled that on the suit. “Eh.. Time to move on to the next stage. This better have been worth the nightmare fuel and preparation.” Each step towards the women's showers seemed as if you were stepping on the freezing seabed, as your footwear seemed immune to the sun in exchange for numbness. Your movement wasn't all like dipping sore toes into warm, revitalizing tropical water, but rather still and lifeless like the depths of a frozen ocean. Setting your luggage on one hand, you slid another across your forehead to catch droplets. “I gotta stop over exaggerating things. She's not dead or anything.” That was right. As long as you made sure to hold on to the costume gun, she was still alive. You tried to think of more optimistic situations, like the authorities would just give you another costume gun to bring her back. Now wasn't the time to think, and instead act upon previous actions. Inside the showers, you saw various stalls with repetitive shower heads, lined perfectly against one side of the bleached room. The other side supplied marble sinks and bathrooms, though you only planned on using the shower side. Each one was divided into sections with individual towel hangers and other tools. It felt unreasonable to wear the skinsuit with shorts on, so you put those glove as well as Anya's clothes inside a wall compartment. You unraveled the suit to observe what it really did to her, witnessing sockets without eyes and a hollow mouth that almost looked like you could stick your hand inside. It drooped downward, like limp clothing. With a sigh, you turned the bodysuit around and saw a streak that ran across her head to her posterior, which opened up her inner, coral body. Judging by how you heard an opening should have been made, you assumed this was the ticket. You tapped one foot methodically, the noise of puddles ringing throughout your ears. What have you got to lose? Her leg was logically the best way to start wearing the suit. The source of the tapping descended into the open gash first, reaching down into the skinsuit's right leg. To say it was a perfect fit would be a lie, as your leg bulged out of the suit, a sight similar to wearing clothing too small for you. Nevertheless, you ignored that discrepancy and put your left leg into the other leg, doing your best to match the toes with yours. Your two limbs didn’t confine in the space without hassle of course, and it seemed like at any moment the fabric would tear apart. With most of your naked figure inside, you let go of the suit as the next step would be fitting your arms inside. The husk fell down, with the upper body collapsing on itself as it touched the tiles. One hand positioned a majority of the suit back up, while the other delved inside the tanned arm. Chocolate waves rippled across your arm, covering your more peachy skin. Your body was disproportionate to the minuscule skinsuit, as your shoulder was still exposed when it supposed to be tucked into a rounder joint. Not only that, your fingers could barely match the small, glove-like fingers, laughably distorting each one. Despite the looks, you continued by sliding another arm into the bodysuit, your back and head now the only things remotely masculine. Her small breasts were more or less flattened bumps on your chest, and her impenetrable vagina oddly had the swelling of a penis. And now, the final step would be replacing her face with yours. Anya’s head may have had a connected gash, but her short black hair had made finding it a tedious task. When you finally split the strand to find it, you wasted no time in using your covered hands to drag the head into yours. It was definitely a tight fit, as there was simply no way your height was on a level to conform to her smaller frame. As you tried to stuff your head into hers and match the eye sockets, there was some success as you could see your damp surroundings. Even though you had some advancement, you didn't know how to cover up your back. Once you somewhat aligned your facial features with hers, however, it seemed as if something was on your back. You rubbed it with your hands, but all you felt was the skin-like texture instead of a normal human back. Perhaps that was the next step, as you were completely stuck inside. Before you could think any further, you were abruptly met with tightening pain from all over. Your body started to compress into the suit, shrinking every finger and toe that didn't previously match. The uncomfortable, sweaty tension on your body slowly decreased as you felt more and more in line with her. Your hair, which was stuck inside the suit, did not feel conformed as more luxurious ebony hair became your own. A greater pain struck your chest, pushing it more and more back as you continually coughed. Only then when your lungs became hers, and deflated breasts sprang forth did your pain subside. It went on to your legs, your thighs reducing in size, but your ass growing ever more pronounced and round. “This is happening too fast!” Your voice sounded of a higher pitch, retaining most of your normal voice. You could no longer bear the suffering, so you put a knee down to rest your legs. A hand touched the floor, but there was something wrong about how you could feel the square texture without any feeling of insulation. Your genitals remained male throughout this process, but only now did they start to lessen in size, its erect length failing to stay large. As it disappeared into nothingness, an unfamiliar feeling emitted from your crotch. There seemed to be an emptiness there, and shifting your thighs to search for your male genitalia ended with failure. Amazement that you were definitely a girl now seeped into your brain as your head painlessly became hers. You opened your mouth, though even a basic function like that drastically changed as your jaw and teeth were much different. “I.. I feel like her, way too much.” The same soft-hearted, gentle voice that guided you here fully masked your old, deeper tone. You looked down, feeling no layer of skin on your face follow. It was obvious your perspective changed, because moments ago the ground was farther away. The final change had your irises gradually sink into a plum-colored ones. From your short, jet-black hair that reached your shoulders to your new tiny foot size, nothing made you indistinguishable from the real Anya. You even put a tawny hand, which no longer felt like wearing a glove, to your new face, rubbing your pleasant cheeks. Compared to your old, bulky body, this one was lightweight like a cloud. This was the last planned action, so now you stood idly to contemplate your next choices. “I shouldn't explore her body here.. maybe I should do it at her house.” You weren't fond of having your brother barge into your room while you explored Anya. Plus, when you would eventually revert her back, she would safely be unconscious in her house. You decided on that plan, but to get to her house you needed to be dressed. That meant wearing the one-piece swimsuit and retrieving any items that might be in her locker, while also making sure your stuff wouldn't be stolen. You got the swimsuit out of the compartment, forcefully straightening it out to see how you would wear it. Holding the navy shoulder straps with both of your hands, you put your legs in one at a time, now concealing your vagina in a sleek latex cover. You raised it up further to put your arms in, successfully hiding your breasts. For the sake of going to her house faster, you grabbed the remaining articles of clothing and jogged towards the locker room. How she could casually walk from the pool to the showers without burning her feet was an accomplishment, as you could feel the sensation of hot coals with every step. You were thankful to find her flip-flops basking in the shade, right next to the locker room. They sheltered your feet marvelously, and the overcast roof brought a comforting waterfall, shrouding your body in cool air. “Woo. Made it.” No lifeguard was there to witness your blazing trail, lit by two legs you had no experience in traversing with. It would have been quite a sight for anyone to see the prodigy swimmer, who apparently had no fear of walking under the sun beforehand, now tremble messily from the ground it scorched. Your breathing remained normal throughout the whole ordeal, but the occasional misstep and near descent into the stone path ruined any idea of professionalism. Those thoughts came and left like a river stream, as you entered the building where your important possessions were safeguarded. For ease of access, your items were right next to hers, knowing full well she would not go to this place until the sun began to cool for the night. Concerning how you would breach the metal barrier into her belongings, any fragment of doubt was shattered into grains of sand that piled on a beach shore, as you sprung out the key from your sun-baked hand. For some odd reason, it fell down when she was converted; bothering yourself with how it was on her body in the first place was an unnecessary worry. With a twist, her guarded items came loose. Just a couple of summer, outside utilities and her phone, all discovered when you peeked into the duffel bag inside of the locker. You stuffed your own summer clothing in the sack, zipped it up afterwards and closed the chamber, casually walking out with an optimistic smile. The next order of business was to go to her house and explore her body in some privacy, and a quick run on your phone’s GPS confirmed your memory was true. Several minutes later, you were greeted to the doorsteps of her house. It was a simple, two story house blended with tan painting, plain enough to be called middle class. You pull out a different key from her bag, under the thought it was for the house. Thankfully, the squared door came open without hassle. “Hel-looo?” You so unprecedentedly chirped. To add to your previous success, no one response came, perhaps meaning Anya was a latchkey child. A depressing truth, but relieving for this situation. The inside of her house was quite sanitary, devoid of any impure marks on the wall or bountiful loads of dust. Air conditioning kept the place cool for the summer, as much as it heated up the electric bill. Your petite feet, freed of footwear, tapped against reflective wood as you explored her life. Her cradle. Thinking of it that way made you skeptical of how realistically dangerous the very weapons that led you here was. You intruded on her very being, and so normally invaded her house as if you stole her daily life. Two slaps on the cheek let go of the contemplation, squishing her delicate skin in the process. Doing that always helped stop make your mind wander. You weren't going to let overthinking ruin your vacation, right? Enjoy the person you're wearing and make sure nothing bad happens—your confidence soon swallowed up any culminating doubt. With it came perversion, and with that came the dash of your athletic body has to the second floor. Your body felt the light gray carpeting and relaxed itself more as time seemed to move quickly as you stood in the hallway. Two closed doors laid left, and one master bedroom to the right; a couple of cabinets started the crossroad. You chose the first option, as one of the doors had her name in glamorous Broadway lights. You unleashed Pandora's Box and ventured into her room, thinking it would be pastel colored and filled with stuffed dolls. You were half right once you laid your eyes on ordinary and extraordinary furniture, like a modern lamp. The paint was a subtle pink, fitting the established drowned out tone. Her small bed and walk-in closet were equally mundane, and the only thing that stood out was a couple of plush animals on top of a clothes drawer. A pink spherical carpet encompassed a dressing table, as well as another table with a chair and laptop. At this point, you were entitled to every single thing here. Now that was a good thought. You immediately dropped your duffel bag at one of the tables and sprang into her bed, ruining the surface as soon as your body flapped on it like a fish. The aroma of a young girl flooded your nostrils, making you stop movement just to hold up a portion of the blanket and smell it further. It was laced in perfume, and as suited you soon realized the fragrance was there from the very start. You were in a garden of peonies, and each petal smelled of sugar and vanilla. This was the true woman’s world, and if it wasn’t the most bewitching atmosphere of female perfection. What wasn't entrancing, however, was the artificial stench of chlorine, every swimmer's menace. This was going to corrupt your once-of-a-lifetime experience, and soon enough you smelled the sweat you gathered from the sunshine. Priorities leapt you out of bed and scrambled into her cabinets, in search of clothing for a shower. “Wait. If I'm alone, why play dress up?” You dropped a pair of satin panties back, and undid every spontaneous action before. Instead, you walked out of her room empty handed and checked the other door, a granite bathroom with sliding glass shower doors and sleek white sinks. You set the costume gun by one of them and looked under to see if anything interesting would pop out of the wood drawers. Indeed there were, a couple towels and some toilet paper rolls. What luck. You slipped out of your one-piece and walked into the dew-stained shower like a princess, which each foot swinging over the other. An idle arm came through to pull the shower handle into action, and from there water spewed out of the head. You closed your eyes to bask in the frosty rainfall, dragging hands down cheeks to rub it in. When they reached your breasts, you finally spoke. “Ah, what a day.” Your slippery hands gave them a short massage before descending further, down to your crisp thighs. You felt the luscious, cushions of skin shiver as you squeezed them a couple of times. A gentle, whisper of a moan was let out, the silky murmur unheard by anyone except you. It wasn't of sexual pleasure, no, but the enjoyment of being such an epitome of beauty. And when you plunged deeper to grasp your half-pale ass, another squeeze relieved all of your stress. You spread the cheeks, leaving your private parts unattended in return for hypnotically spinning your hands on them. You'd save that for later. You finished groping yourself by slapping the surface, which gave a little vibration. Now that you were coated in more pure water, you could relish your soft and wet body. First, though, you modified the jet stream of water to become more delicate, like the choppy current of a lonesome river. Your eyes came out of a their chestnut shell to witness how lovely you were now; back at the pool, you couldn’t pace yourself. As they looked downwards to survey your delectable form, all you could think about was how this body was yours. Anya, the purest of girls at this school, had clear dark tan and white skin that must've made her peers jealous. The slenderness of her entire figure and lack of any body or pubic hair as well seemed so otherworldly to a boy like you. To add on to her beauty, her short black hair, those straight midnight strands, rivaled the smoothness of goddesses. Though her breasts weren't as developed, she had quite the perky ass. Removed of your male physique would normally be a phobia, but to temporarily give it up for Anya was a mindless trade. “This is what she uses, huh. I need this in my life.” A dry soap bar lay relaxed inside a steel bar rack, along with other goods such as shampoo and conditioner. The bar was of an innocent snow color, curved like a crescent moon with a logo you’d never seen. It wasn’t a center of attention for you until now, but now that it was, this was without doubt what she used to emit freshness. You shined it in the shower head to make it usable, and then gave it a whiff to smell that floral grace again. water to lather yourself in the grandiose item. You let the bar plaster itself onto your hanging arm, leaving bubbly footprints in its wake. Looking at her arm once more made you think how womanly it resembled. Such thinness like a cinnamon stick, such flawlessness, and yet, strong enough to blast through water. You were dazzled by its wondrous talent as your hand subconsciously swept through it with soap, your eyes glowing at how shiny your arm was becoming. After that, you switched hands to cover the other arm, the same pleasant feeling blessing your soul. With both arms done, you moved on to your stomach. It tingled from every swift sweep of the soap, almost making you giggle. Nevertheless, you also covered your back, and then your two boobs. Especially those. You used the bar as a messaging tool, and it was that same tingle that seeped out a grin. It was electric, and each short shock made you want more of it. You stopped that sensation, as your legs weren't prepared yet. To start, you scrubbed your thighs in white at an unmatchable pace, and then crept to your vagina and anus. “I'll need to give this a deep clean. A girl like me should always be tidy.” You smugly declared, each word slipping away like maple syrup. You dragged the bar to your bare vagina, and moved it up and down the space between your thighs. The movement was slow, but repetition made you shiver with delight. Merely gracing over your crotch was entrancing, as you would always see a penis lying there instead. When you ran up the soap bar to your tight flesh folds, the pressure brought out a jolt like no other. Even your posture dwindled at how different this electricity felt compared to your breasts and ass, making your hand escape that private place. Because of that, you made a quick promise to yourself to indulge in that fleshy goodness later, when you were cleansed of any disruptive smells. You proceeded to stand up and walk into the downpour. The soap melted away into nothingness, sliding down your limbs and collecting as fizzy sleet into the drain below. Regal purple eyes observed all of it wash away, glistening at the spectacle from a dark-skinned perspective. How grand was it to see soap creep down your dainty breasts, on a voyage to explore your caramel figure. You let the soap continue on with its descent as you squeezed out shampoo from a bottle. Again, you moved back to spread the foamy substance all over your head, similar in whiteness to the soap you used earlier. Once your head was a mixture of black and white, you closed your eyes, stepped into the shower head, and scrubbed away the product with continuous strokes. The aftermath left you blossomed with that charming floral smell, a scent of impeccably ripe peonies. The hand that once held soap pulled the shower back into inactivity, and vigorously the glass doors unleashed the tan teenager inside. It was you who confidently came out soaking, who grabbed a nearby towel to stop your hair's drizzle. You dried up your head, arms, chest, and legs in that exact order. Once that was out of the way, you left the towel beside the sink and grabbed the costume gun, happily walking back to your room. Calmly setting the firearm on the surface of your bed, the aforementioned events at the beginning were set into motion.

---

You exited the pose you were making, flipping your back and getting back up in the process.

“Masturbating sounds great right now. I wonder if she has any sex toys. If people are really watching me from god knows where, can you lend me a hand?” No response, of course. You never took into account the sheer embarrassment or shame that all your actions created, and now that it was starting to settle in, you decided the best choice would be to deepen the hole and bury your masculinity.

You examine the dressing table you skimmed over the last time you came to the room, singling it out with no real reason. Like every other furniture piece, its texture and color was gilded in white, the type a hospital room would use. You stare at it for a couple of seconds, before delving into the miniature compartments below the surface. Two were on each side, and a quick look at the ones to the left revealed an assortment of feminine garments, from hair clips and bands to bows. A subconscious force gave you inclination to try all of all of the accessories on; maybe even put on makeup to top it off.

You turn you body to reach the other containers, coincidentally stumbling upon the basic tools of makeup. Mascara, nail polish, lipstick, that was the extent of what you could name from the piles of it. You give up trying to expand the idea of wearing makeup, picking off a simple ribbon instead. It was as white as any object in this room, with loose straps meant to wrap around part of your head. The endeavor was something you had to take a look in the oval mirror atop the table for, magnified to reflect only your head. Handling your new hairstyle was one thing, but add on a pair of two thin hands and an object you had no practice with turned the casual yearn into a tedious labor. You set the ribbon part to the center of your head, wrapped the strings around the inner tufts of hair to avoid a laughable look, and tied it behind your head. During this time, you barely utilized the mirror, using it to admire the end result instead. Your amethyst eyes glistened like jewels in a dark cavern, unexposed to this fashion. You weren't interested in being female forever, rather it was more akin to never having a woman so close or irresistibly naked in your life. Without a doubt, you would never get tired of this first person action.

“As much as my sex appeal rose, I forgot about masturbating.” You lean away from the mirror and turn to see where the sex toy, if it does exist, is hiding. A gamble, yes, but a mutual way to also explore a girl’s life.

A check on the drawers with her clothing that you previously raided gave no lead. You did, however, learn the various colored panties and bras she has, a fact something stalkers would share. A glimpse of what was under her bed only showed bits of dust forming. Investigating her computer wouldn't help, and the table it sat on was made of glass clearer than day. The last and most demanding check was the walk-in closet, and with the sun still blazing, there was nothing to lose. You swing the ridged doors open, the first thing you see are boxes of schoolwork, juvenile toys, and racks upon racks of outfits.

You take a few steps to go inside, intending to open the box labeled schoolwork. Your toes, however, poked at the toys box, creating a short sound of hollowness. This was the first box you saw, so you thought it was going to be loaded soon. Such a noise was peculiar, so you ended up lifting it up and hauling it over to your bed. You flip the cardboard covers open, intending to see emptiness to move on, only to find a phallus-shaped vibrator laying dormant. When your eyes stared at the bottom and traveled to the top, you had to look again. It was of pastel pink and white color, the two taking half the space of the phallus and the bottom being layered in white switches.

“Anya, you're crazy to put this, of all things, inside the closest box.” You take it from its brown case, expecting weight but receiving weightlessness instead.

Simply grasping the shaft to look at it felt dirty, yet imagining Anya using this made you feel obligated to abuse it. You toss the box back where it came from, sealing the closet doors and jumping back into bed. There, you rest yourself comfortably on a pillow, your body as straight as ever aside from a pair of open legs. The pastel sex toy found home on the top of your chest, inches above your belly button. Your left hand grabbed the lower part, filled to the brim with settings, and flicked on the lowest setting.

It sprang to life, humming like a gentle bee and spinning like a rising tsunami. You didn't go for your vagina instantly, and tested the waters by sliding it down your right arm. Contact with the smooth surface, along with the buzzing sensation of a massage, brought a pleased chill. A switch of the dominant hand gave that same satisfaction to the other limb. You drove the vibrator to your lower chest and dragged it upward, lightly vibrating all over your well-tanned body. When you reach your breasts, a thought came to mind.

“Wouldn't it be fun to roleplay some?” A brain driven by hormones and curiosity tempted out loud.

The answer was a surefire “yes.” You bent your left hand to your two boobs, and spread its fingers, getting a perimeter of her small orbs. She would always withdraw from conversations that commended her skill in water, holding back from pride and letting the compliments get carried into the ocean. Perhaps it was her mixed tan of dark and light that lowered her morale, or how she acted respectful and soft-spoken in your classes, as if such manners were imprinted by her family. But now, as her, you could bend her personality to whatever you wanted. Be it assertive, bashful, or timid like the original, your imagination defined your fulfillment.

“I'm Anya, and I love swimming. Today I saw this cute guy when I was practicing.” Your held was feminine, but held the masculine tone no longer. It came out more airy, almost innocent, mimicking Anya’s way of enunciation. As you talked, thinking of how this girly attitude was your own made your vagina tremble in delight.

“I've always had my eyes on him during school, but I'm too embarrassed to say anything to him.. I don't know what to do.” The vibrator now resonated against your thighs, making them quiver. It was so close to your vagina that the flesh hole quivered as well, as if wanting to be engulfed by that sweet sound.

“And when he needed my help to find the shower room, I could feel my heart skip a beat! It was so embarrassing.. I knew he was staring at my butt.” Previously split legs united like magnets as the vibrator was squished between your thighs, leaving your vagina some space to keep it visible. The entrapment made your entire lower half reverberate, moisturizing your vagina from the sheer neglect and anticipation. At the end of your sentence, your free hand instinctively went under to grope your adorable coconut butt, relishing how each squeeze was more luscious than the last.

“I love him. I masturbate and imagine it’s him who pleasures me.” With that final line, you still clenched your legs as your index finger glided above your clitoris, where pubic hair was supposed to gather. A small amount of pressure slightly caved into the skin, and in no time the search concluded with finding your clitoris’ shaft. Circular motions on the thin cord unleashed a can of worms never fathomed by or felt by your penis. You could feel sweat create a lining of your body on the bed, and each rotation hypnotized eyes that bore witness to it all. With one hand occupied doing that, the other went down to feel your clitoris’ hood. Rubbing the fleshy exterior gave way to even more pleasure. Combined with the lurking vibrator, your hands jittered at each tremor.

You ceased that after your lower lips was fully soaked in pearly lubricant, and released the sex toy out of its chocolate cover. By then, it was warm to the touch. You raised the strength by a small fraction, enough to turn it into a torrent. Time moved slowly when you held it over your yearnful vagina, and when it lowered to touch the bulb that was your clitoris, time vastly accelerated. Your athletic body weakened at the sensation, feeling glorious ripples stream all over your vagina. Your legs weakened at that single action of bliss, and to amplify it further the second hand wildly stuck two fingers into your aching vagina, relishing at how the inner walls cushioned them in pure velvety goodness. That alone was enough to release a full-fledged moan that painted lust all over pastel walls.

“T-this is..” You held choked on your breath at the realization of an incoming orgasm.

It was like the first time you ejaculated; a soft pain followed by harsh spurts of discharge and hormonal joy. You had to close your eyes at the massive wave of tension that took over your body, firmly closing numb toes. The feeling was equivalent to the descent of a rollercoaster, so full of excitement, though your hands stood frozen at the release. Euphoric jolts endlessly came, bringing a moan blind to the sensation every single time. A feeling of lightheadedness flooded your senses, giving an out-of-body-experience. Your crotch was so warm—so hot—from nearby pearly liquid splashing onto virgin white sheets.

“Aah, that.. that was great.” Like a candle, the heat diminished with every passing second as your body melted into the cloth.

“I could go for another round, but I won’t. For her sake.” You were still laying as a blind arm sprawled against the sheet to relocate the costume gun. When cinnamon fingers touched something much harder than a pillow, they came back with the gun. Your hand was still shaky from orgasm, having some struggle to carry the firearm. Both hands grasped the single pistol, steadying a shot directly at your chest. A forceful press released a blinding light, and when your eyes reopened, no longer did they feel natural. Your body expanded as another shriveled up, making milky, more rough, hands out-of-place. Ebony hair no longer reached down your head, and no silkiness could be felt with an elastic cover. You moved uneasy hands to unravel your true head, which was surprisingly free of hot temperature or tiredness. In fact, when you pushed your naked form out of Anya’s petite frame, there was nothing that felt humid.

“I guess muscle memory doesn’t transfer through skinsuits.” It was the most possible conclusion. You got of her bed, grabbing the costume gun from the flattened belly. You walked over to her duffel bag and pulled out all of your personal belongings, becoming one with your male physique again and wearing the swim gear you brought. The height increase was familiar, and slowly your mind adjusted to its former figure.

“See you next summer.” An effortless movement pulled the neon trigger, reforming Anya back to fullness. From a stranger’s perspective, she was casually sleeping after masturbation. To you, you were staring at yourself. If you heard your brother right, he said something along the lines that undoing the costume gun’s bodysuit would leave the victim unconscious for a few minutes.

Since you were already close to the door, you went ahead and shut it. You sluggishly went down the same stairs a pair of hazel feet dashed up, and came to the front door. They came loose once you unlocked it, but locking it was the problem.

“Hey, if you’re watching me, bro, make sure no one breaks in? I’m not going to take her keys.” You were probably going to get a nagging for leaving a house open to be robbed, but you were urgent to get back to the pool and grab your other leftover items.

This time, the journey became a short sprint to the pool under the glaring sun. Upon entry, you navigated through the locker room and took out the rental key. You greedily grabbed your cool items and went out to the chlorine water, seeing the lifeguard idly looking at nothing. You caught his attention, handed him your keys, and gave thanks before departing. There wasn’t much to do now. You decided sprinting would do nothing to your way back to your house, so you let yourself grow sweaty. Upon noticing the trickle of water on your forehead, you learned you no longer smelled of vanilla grace. Instead, your sunscreen-coated skin shimmered from the undying heat. You kept a mental note to buy the brand, and from there the concrete sidewalk repeated for minutes, an organic path of grass traveling by its side. The greenery halted when a path leading to a house split it, which continued on for some time. Only until you saw your own, extremely ordinary house did you stray from the main road.

Walking and greeting your brother inside was going to be awkward. You so casually masturbated under the lens of your sibling’s crew, and now you were going to waltz into your house no different from any other day. You thought of these things while traveling up to a hay doormat, noticing the car your brother owned roasting in front of the furnished brick garage. An apathetic hand dove into your black and red shorts, taking out the personal house key. You were ready to get teased for saying all those erotic things as Anya, and with open eyes the door swung open. How perfect it was that the first thing most people saw when entering your household was the dinner table; a figure casually sat on the closest chair to the door. A granite mug—a particular container your brother always drank coffee from—came towering down to the redwood table.

“Welcome home. I had to lock your little playmate’s door. Thank me later.”

#TG #TF #TSF #Transgender #Transformation #MTF #Male #to #Female #Change #Gender #Bender #Bodysuit #Skinsuit #Kawamono #Suit #皮モノ

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iguana012 · 8 years

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Japanese Nats: The Aftermath

This recap is almost 3 weeks late but fwiw I judged the event on The Judges’ Table. If you’re interested in my (serious) opinions about the competition, you can read them there. If you’re interested in my less censored opinions, I will include as much as I can in this post.

So what happened is that Japan crowned their tiniest champions ever, Satoko Miyahara (her 3rd title) and Shoma Uno (his 1st title). But some people were less interested in that and more interested in receiving updates on Yuzuru Hanyu’s recovery after he decided to withdraw from the competition in order to prioritize his health, thus generating earthquakes among his sensitive fans. Other people (those who attended the competition) went just to see Mao Asada but they were polite enough not to get up and empty the arena while Mao wasn’t skating unlike what happened at the Sochi Olympics when Evgeni Plushenko withdrew from the men’s event.

Now I’m not pretending to be some advocate of justice and I’m not intending to preach. But I believe this is a good opportunity to highlight frequent problems in the skating fandom so you won’t be tempted to fall into their traps.

DISCLAIMER: I do realize I’m already in a very high risk of getting attacked by some Yuzu fans via anon asks or salty replies/reblogs but I’m gonna say this again: it’s okay if you’re not into my kind of “”””humor”””. You can ignore me and I promise I won’t get a boo-boo. GETTING TO THE SUBJECT NOW!

THE LADIES EVENT aka Game Of Thrones

Satoko Miyahara waltzed into this event giving negative fucks and the results showed: when she gives negative fucks, that 3Lz-3T combo in the second half of her SP is miraculously rotated. As a consequence she got 76 for her program and further established her new position as one of the most overscored skaters currently competing (don’t believe me? Ask the Russian ubers and Mao ubers). I also thought “damn, this empty program actually looks nice when neither she nor I have to worry about rotations”. But the key here is to make the program look like that when you give a lot of fucks as opposed to negative fucks, and Mie Hamada knew that. So the next day before Satoko skated her FS, Hamada annoyed the crap out of her and pressured her as a strategy to make her get used to skating clean when she gives a lot of fucks, such as when she’s thinking she’s gotta get a medal in a relevant event, including the Olympics. For now, Satoko is still failing that test because she had a step-out on the 3Lz-3T combo and a couple of carrots.

Wakaba Higuchi finally - I repeat - FINALLY skated a clean short program and it was so adorable to see her get all excited and happy about it. Except it wasn’t a squeaky-clean program because she got a wrong edge call on her flip. What can ya do, if ya got a good lutz ya gotta lip and when ya got a good flip ya gotta flutz. She’s gonna have to follow Satoko’s example and replace that lip with a loop and be done with it. Other than that, damn this girl got huge jumps. Everyone loves some huge jumps. However, the disadvantage of huge jumps is that you gotta have very good control of the landing and you have to know how to manage your speed, when to speed up, when to slow down, otherwise you’re doomed to pull a Midori Ito and land your jumps over the cameraman outside the boards. (Have you imagined Evgenia Medvedeva landing one of her 3-3-3 combos on Tarasova’s table cause I did and I cracked myself up really).

Another skater who is fast as crap and has great technique on top of that is Mai Mihara who won the bronze medal and got herself a ticket to Worlds. Just a year ago around this time she was watching Nationals on TV from a hospital bed having been diagnosed with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. Doesn’t that make a great Cinderella story? She is, actually, skating to Cinderella but her style is still stuck somewhere on the road between junior and senior (she was pretty good as a junior but I didn’t like her skating then and I’m not necessarily warming up now) but she seems like a very sweet girl and if there’s anyone who deserved going to Worlds aside from Satoko and Wakaba, it’s this young lady.

Marin Honda is another skater who finally - I repeat - FINALLY skated a clean short program after burying herself in competitions right from the start. The poor girl has been under so much constant pressure this season I feel like she’s always on the verge of having an emotional breakdown. It’s not only the fact that she’s cried a number of times after her performances, but this season she always looked like she was terrified of her results no matter how she skated. I’m not a fan of either of her programs this season (SP is similar to last season’s and the FS is a hot mess combo of Yuzuru’s Romeo & Juliet 1 and 2) but she has excellent skating skills, musicality, expression, projection to the audience for her age. She doesn’t have the best jump technique but she is one of the few lucky ones with a clean lutz AND flip. After a smooth short program, a popped jump in the free prevented her from stepping onto the podium but that’s how it is in competition; it’s not about what you’re able to do, it’s about what you end up doing when it counts.

Rika Hongo has been in serious trouble ever since the beginning of this season - or maybe as far as the previous Nationals - and the worst case scenario happened. She finished 5th and now the juniors ahead of her are old enough to go to Worlds in her place. While she was 2nd in the SP with the best performance of the season, she went down to 6th in the FS and finished 5th overall despite bringing back Riverdance, a program that worked for her last year. Unfortunately the spark, the freedom and the joy that was present last season was absent in this competition as she was very nervous even before she took the ice.

Yuna Shiraiwa on the other hand... I’m only going to say this. Clean 3Lz-3T and (second half) 3F-3T combos in the FS. No UR calls. Highest TES (71.74) of the evening. She’s the real MVP in Hamada’s team.

THE OLD(ER) GENERATION

This was Mao Asada’s worst result at Nationals but instead of having retirement thoughts (like she had last season at Nationals even though she skated better), she’s still determined to come back stronger next season. An old knee injury prevented her from landing the 3A and rotating a lot of her jumps but at this point she’s obviously not skating for the medals as much as she’s skating for herself. No skater wants to leave the competitive world with regrets so who are we to judge Mao’s decision to continue in spite of physical difficulties? With Yuzuru absent due to influenza, most fans attended the competition to see Mao and it was obvious just counting the number of flowers that were thrown on the ice for her compared to the other skaters.

Redemption from Kanako Murakami, who is also nearing the end of her career but managed to deliver the first clean FS she’s skated in ages. That’s all she wanted from this competition, she got it, and she awarded the audience with her signature Kanako Smile.

Painful competition for Haruka Imai, former Japanese Jr National Champion and 4th at the 2014 4CC. No GP assignments this season, she was plagued by inflammation of her hips and knees but she fought to land the 3Lz and 3F. This was also the first time we got to see one of her new programs (the FS, which is Primavera by Einaudi) and she’s still beautiful to watch.

SHOMA UNO & CO.

It was kind of depressing to watch the men’s event this year because only a couple of years ago it was the fiercest event at Nationals. Keiji Tanaka seized his chance to grab onto the silver medal while Takahito Mura’s bronze was (once again) useless - as harsh as it sounds. Shoma wasn’t at his best here but he showed that he learned a new lesson (tag a 3T to a different jump if you screw up one of your planned combos!!) and he came out of this alive and well. The added pressure of having to “live up to expectations” in the absence of Olympic King Zuzu was another thing he suddenly had to put up with (good job Fuji). But there’s an old saying; “better here than at Worlds”.

CONTROVERSIES

While Satoko and Shoma are the tiniest champions Japan has ever had, they’re also the most criticized. They both have to skate under the shadows of two skating giants, Mao and Yuzuru, who have hoards of fans. Among those hoards of fans there are ubers, people who have made a habit out of bashing their favorite skaters’ successors. In Japan there already are Mao ubers whose jobs are to tear Satoko apart and the disease has long spread worldwide. You can see it on forums, you can see it on comment sections of YouTube videos, you can even hear it on television (looking at you Simon Reed). People who write passive-aggressive, sarcastic remarks, calling Satoko names and whatnot. Shoma gets similar (though mellower) treatment from overseas fans, but not from Japanese fans, possibly due to the fact that he’s a Daisuke Takahashi fan so most of Dai’s fans are now supporting him.

These two young skaters (and not only) deserve all the support in the world. It’s not easy to become Japan’s supporting pillar and leading lady after the great Mao Asada, but Satoko is doing an incredible job. Appreciate more, bash less. Don’t let the judges cloud your judgement. There’s also a massive amount of PR in figure skating; Mao has so many sponsors you can see her in commercials, you can see fluff videos about her because that’s what the general audience wants. She’s been advertised as a child prodigy (which she was) and people consider her part of their family. Satoko doesn’t benefit from that kind of treatment so people tend to be cold and judgmental towards her because she’s nothing compared to Mao-chan (oh dear those jumps, oh dear the way she bends her knee, oh dear her face).

Recently Marin Honda has been getting the “heir of Mao” treatment, getting sponsorship from JAL, shooting CMs for Ghana and stuff. I feel like I have to point out the fact that all of her siblings, including herself, are managed by a hugely influential management company. If you’re into Japanese entertainment, you might have heard of it. It’s called Oscar Promotion and it’s a talent agency whose famous names include actresses Emi Takei, Aya Ueto and Ayame Gouriki. She’s been promoted and modeled by a talent agency since she was a young child so she’s an expert at working with the camera, the audience and the reporters. As a result she’s also been gathering - well, pretty scary fans who are downright infatuated with her and will start arguments if you dare criticize her. Similar to idol group fans, I’d say.

But this is figure skating and crack commentaries aside we’re talking about real, young people with feelings who are training every day from dawn till dusk, who get injured, who sacrifice their childhood and adolescence. We’re also talking about real fans behind the computer screen who like who they like and no one person is entitled to criticize or ridicule the things that make them happy. At the same time, no one is entitled to attack fans who criticize your favorite skater(s) as long as they bring valid arguments and they’re polite about it. And no one is entitled to attack another fan whose way of seeing or perceiving things is either more or less intense than yours. Be nice to each other. #PEACE

#Yuzuru Hanyu #Mao Asada #Satoko Miyahara #Shoma Uno #figure skating

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jamesgeiiger · 6 years

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He’s a ‘tech addict’ who works in the tech industry

BELLEVUE, Wash. — The young men sit in chairs in a circle in a small meeting room in suburban Seattle and introduce themselves before they speak. It is much like any other 12-step meeting — but with a twist.

“Hi, my name is,” each begins. Then something like, “and I’m an internet and tech addict.”

The eight who’ve gathered here are beset by a level of tech obsession that’s different than it is for those of us who like to say we’re addicted to our phones or an app or some new show on a streaming video service. For them, tech gets in the way of daily functioning and self-care. We’re talking flunk-your-classes, can’t-find-a-job, live-in-a-dark-hole kinds of problems, with depression, anxiety and sometimes suicidal thoughts part of the mix.

There’s Christian, a 20-year-old college student from Wyoming who has a traumatic brain injury. His mom urged him to seek help because he was “medicating” his depression with video games and marijuana.

Seth, a 28-year-old from Minnesota, used video games and any number of things to try to numb his shame after a car he was driving crashed, seriously injuring his brother.

Wes, 21, an Eagle Scout and college student from Michigan, played video games 80 hours a week, only stopping to eat every two to three days. He lost 25 pounds and failed his classes.

Across town there is another young man who attended this meeting, before his work schedule changed — and his work places him squarely at risk of temptation.

He does cloud maintenance for a suburban Seattle tech company. For a self-described tech addict, this is like working in the lion’s den, labouring for the very industry that peddles the games, videos and other online content that long has been his vice.

“I’m like an alcoholic working at a bar,” the 27-year-old laments.

——

“The drugs of old are now repackaged. We have a new foe,” Cosette Rae says of the barrage of tech. A former developer in the tech world, she heads a Seattle area rehab centre called reSTART Life, one of the few residential programs in the nation specializing in tech addiction.

Use of that word — addiction — when it comes to devices, online content and the like, is still debated in the mental health world. But many practitioners agree that tech use is increasingly intertwined with the problems of those seeking help.

An American Academy of Pediatrics review of worldwide research found that excessive use of video games alone is a serious problem for as many as 9 per cent of young people. This summer, the World Health Organization also added “gaming disorder” to its list of afflictions. A similar diagnosis is being considered in the United States.

It can be a taboo subject in an industry that frequently faces criticism for using “persuasive design,” intentionally harnessing psychological concepts to make tech all the more enticing. That’s why the 27-year-old who works at the tech company spoke on condition that his identity not be revealed. He fears that speaking out could hurt his fledgling career.

“I stay in the tech industry because I truly believe that technology can help other people,” the young man says. He wants to do good.

But as his co-workers huddle nearby, talking excitedly about their latest video game exploits, he puts on his headphones, hoping to block the frequent topic of conversation in this tech-centric part of the world.

Even the computer screen in front of him could lead him astray. But he digs in, typing determinedly on his keyboard to refocus on the task at hand.

——

The demons are not easy to wrestle for this young man, who was born in 1991, the very year the World Wide Web went public.

As a toddler, he sat on his dad’s lap as they played simple video games on a Mac Classic II computer. Together in their Seattle area home, they browsed the internet on what was then a ground-breaking new service called Prodigy. The sound of the bouncy, then high-pitched tones of the dial-up connection are etched in his memory.

By early elementary school, he got his first Super Nintendo system and fell in love with “Yoshi’s Story,” a game where the main character searched for “lucky fruit.”

As he grew, so did one of the world’s major tech hubs. Led by Microsoft, it rose from the nondescript suburban landscape and farm fields here, just a short drive from the home he still shares with his mom, who split from her husband when their only child was 11.

The boy dreamt of being part of this tech boom and, in eighth grade, wrote a note to himself. “I want to be a computer engineer,” it read.

Very bright and with a head full of facts and figures, he usually did well in school. He also took an interest in music and acting but recalls how playing games increasingly became a way to escape life — the pain he felt, for instance, when his parents divorced or when his first serious girlfriend broke his heart at age 14. That relationship still ranks as his longest.

“Hey, do you wanna go out?” friends would ask.

“No, man, I got plans. I can’t do it this weekend. Sorry,” was his typical response, if he answered at all.

“And then I’d just go play video games,” he says of his adolescent “dark days,” exacerbated by attention deficit disorder, depression and major social anxiety.

Even now, if he thinks he’s said something stupid to someone, his words are replaced with a verbal tick – “Tsst, tsst” — as he replays the conversation in his head.

“There’s always a catalyst and then it usually bubbles up these feelings of avoidance,” he says. “I go online instead of dealing with my feelings.”

He’d been seeing a therapist since his parents’ divorce. But attending college out of state allowed more freedom and less structure, so he spent even more time online. His grades plummeted, forcing him to change majors, from engineering to business.

Eventually, he graduated in 2016 and moved home. Each day, he’d go to a nearby restaurant or the library to use the Wi-Fi, claiming he was looking for a job but having no luck.

Instead, he was spending hours on Reddit, an online forum where people share news and comments, or viewing YouTube videos. Sometimes, he watched online porn.

Even now, his mom doesn’t know that he lied. “I still need to apologize for that,” he says, quietly.

——

The apologies will come later, in Step 9 of his 12-step program, which he found with the help of a therapist who specializes in tech addiction. He began attending meetings of the local group called Internet & Tech Addiction Anonymous in the fall of 2016 and landed his current job a couple months later.

For a while now, he’s been stuck on Step 4 — the personal inventory — a challenge to take a deep look at himself and the source of his problems. “It can be overwhelming,” he says.

The young men at the recent 12-step meeting understand the struggle.

“I had to be convinced that this was a ‘thing,”‘ says Walker, a 19-year-old from Washington whose parents insisted he get help after video gaming trashed his first semester of college. He and others from the meeting agreed to speak only if identified by first name, as required by the 12-step tenets.

That’s where facilities like reSTART come in. They share a group home after spending several weeks in therapy and “detoxing” at a secluded ranch. One recent early morning at the ranch outside Carnation, Washington, an 18-year-old from California named Robel was up early to feed horses, goats and a couple of farm cats — a much different routine than staying up late to play video games. He and other young men in the house also cook meals for one another and take on other chores.

Eventually, they write “life balance plans,” committing to eating well and regular sleep and exercise. They find jobs and new ways to socialize, and many eventually return to college once they show they can maintain “sobriety” in the real world. They make “bottom line” promises to give up video games or any other problem content, as well as drugs and alcohol, if those are issues. They’re also given monitored smartphones with limited function — calls, texts and emails and access to maps.

“It’s more like an eating disorder because they have to learn to use tech,” just as anorexics need to eat, says Hilarie Cash, chief clinical officer and another co-founder at reSTART, which opened nearly a decade ago. They’ve since added an adolescent program and will soon offer outpatient services because of growing demand.

The young tech worker, who grew up just down the road, didn’t have the funds to go to such a program — it’s not covered by insurance, because tech addiction is not yet an official diagnosis.

But he, too, has apps on his phone that send reports about what he’s viewing to his 12-step sponsor, a fellow tech addict named Charlie, a 30-year-old reSTART graduate.

At home, the young man also persuaded his mom to get rid of Wi-Fi to lessen the temptation. Mom struggles with her own addiction — over-eating — so she’s tried to be as supportive as she can.

It hasn’t been easy for her son, who still relapses every month or two with an extended online binge. He’s managed to keep his job. But sometimes, he wishes he could be more like his co-workers, who spend a lot of their leisure time playing video games and seem to function just fine.

“Deep down, I think there’s a longing to be one of those people,” Charlie says.

That’s true, the young man concedes. He still has those days when he’s tired, upset or extremely bored — and he tests the limits.

He tells himself he’s not as bad as other addicts. Charlie knows something’s up when his calls or texts aren’t returned for several days, or even weeks.

“Then,” the young man says, “I discover very quickly that I am actually an addict, and I do need to do this.”

Having Charlie to lean on helps. “He’s a role model,” he says.

“He has a place of his own. He has a dog. He has friends.”

That’s what he wants for himself.

——

Online:

Internet & Tech Addiction Anonymous: http://www.netaddictionanon.com

reSTART Life: https://netaddictionrecovery.com

Children and Screens: http://www.childrenandscreens.com

——

Martha Irvine, an AP national writer and visual journalists, can be reached at mirvine//twitter.com/irvineap

He’s a ‘tech addict’ who works in the tech industry published first on https://worldwideinvestforum.tumblr.com/

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mikemortgage · 6 years