#sorry for placing such a high value on video games i promise i have my reasons for it

[hwei]

need to stop getting emotional over how big esports has become over the years

[painedpen]

The people have spoken.

Peaceful Hope’s Peak:

So this whole AU is based on the idea of the butterfly effect. One small detail can change the whole story.

What would have happened if the students had more time to solidify relationships before Monokuma started with the motives?

Hope’s Peak was relatively peaceful until that first motive was released, and even then Sayaka only acted on it due to fear and desperation. I think that of Monokuma had waited like a week to present the motive videos, Sayaka would have had a deeper and more genuine connection with the other students, and she wouldn’t have tried to frame Makoto.

So basically, the game starts out exactly the same, except there’s more time for the students to mingle and get somewhat used to life in the school. Makoto has a couple of rough patches with people (*cough* Byakuya and Mondo *cough*) but overall everyone’s been getting along. Monokuma presents the first motive, and Sayaka has her breakdown. This time, however, it’s not just Makoto who goes to comfort her. Most of the students are trying to cheer her up and support her.

A couple of nights later, Sayaka comes pounding on Makoto’s door, telling her story about someone trying to break into her room. She’s extremely close to convincing Makoto, but she loses her nerve at the last second and breaks. She tells Makoto everything and, because Makoto is like Jesus or something, he forgives her immediately. Sayaka goes back to her room, and spends her night jamming out with Leon like she had promised.

Time passes. No one else tries anything due to the risk being too high, and positive feelings about their classmates as a whole. Taka and Mondo start on their Gay Shit™, now with the added bonus of Makoto not being traumatized and also participating in Gay Shit™ with them. Mondo and Chihiro are also getting along really well.

Second motive is introduced, and Taka immediately decides to share his secret with the class so that the Mastermind can’t use it against them. Spurred on by this decision, Mondo follows his example. Soon everyone’s sat down with each other, revealing their secrets and talking through them one by one. Group Therapy ensues.

Time passes, and Monokuma is getting really sick of this Found Family shit so he tries again. This time the motive is money. Here’s how this one goes down:

Monokuma: Whoever kills another student and gets away with it gets 10,000,00$ how about that?

Everyone: …

Everyone: Anyways-

Celeste ponders it for a minute, but at this point she’s too close with Chihiro to really consider it, so she painstakingly let’s it go. (Outing myself as a CelesHiro shipper because the aesthetics are just too good)

At this point Junko - the real one not Mukuro because Junko was chosen as the Mastermind for shock value and I do not approve - decides she has been away from her sewing machine for long enough and starts working on projects for all of her classmates. This means MAKEOVERS because I said so.

Last ditch effort, Monokuma reveals that Sakura is the traitor because she hasn’t killed anybody yet. Sakura’s like: “I’m really sorry but like he has my family so I didn’t really have a choice. He’ll probably kill me soon, but I’m not gonna kill any of you.” Kyoko and Makoto immediately decide that this isn’t acceptable, and decide to try and put an end to the killing game.

Big ass investigation takes place and the students enter their first Class Trial, everyone is still alive. Things happen and the Mastermind is revealed to be Jin Kirigiri because he would’ve made so much more sense than Junko, and if a single persona asks me to elaborate I will.

Everyone makes it out alive, and this tremendous victory is shown to be a beacon of Hope to the rest of the world. The Future Foundation is established, with far more power behind it this time, and Hope’s Peak is turned into a proper sanctuary for people who haven’t yet fallen into despair.

Bing Bang Boom everybody’s alive and the world is healing you’re welcome everybody.

[project-sour-grapes]

My Precious Entitled Career

Despite my “success,” I've come to the realization that how I approach everything is wrong.

I am a professional in tech and an artist. My friends call me patient and hardworking beyond what is expected. In high school, I was one of those never-crack-a-book honors students with a fancy scholarship. However, when I look inward, all of these good fruits seem like an accident.

I was recently let go from a tech company that your average zoomer would know the name of. There was a conflict around compensation that played out over a week or two that escalated into my being terminated. While the decisions I made were kosher with my contract and were built upon advice from other professionals who had been in my shoes, I now consider my approach to be a failure. It's important to note that I don't regret standing up for myself, as that lesson was overdue for separate reasons. However, my mindset throughout the conflict did not serve me any good and I've now seen the severity of my entitlement and self importance through a magnifying glass.

I could detail you the statistics on median pay for my job, my old company, my state, etc. I could state why the situation seemed unjust and why I felt underappreciated and fooled. Maybe it was unfair on paper, and maybe I had the right to be angry, depending on who you ask. But I don't care anymore.

Time has been plentiful for my unemployed self. I have spent it ruminating, walking, and listening to audiobooks, one of which is Ego is the Enemy by Ryan Holiday. In one chapter, Holiday details Jackie Robinson's struggles as a black man trying to play professional baseball. If anything was fair on paper, it would have been Jackie Robinson fighting back against the racists (which he did and was arrested for when he was younger). But as a professional, he was encouraged by others to ignore racism and just beat them in games. And he did. He didn’t fight anybody anymore, even though he would have been right to and those idiots would have deserved it. Being a famous baseball player and fully grown adult yet being treated like a non-human or a child is the peak of unfair. But Holiday’s book’s point is that looking past unfairness towards the mission is sometimes necessary to accomplish it.

I'm not saying my life struggle compares to Jackie Robinson's. In fact, that is exactly what I'm not saying. My "unfair" situations pale in comparison to his. He climbed Everest and I'm over here upset about an ant hill. And in some sense, I made that ant hill myself. I mean that if he can experience literal crimes and keep his head up, then I need to shut my damn mouth.

What is the correct approach to my work then? Let's rewind a bit. Full disclosure, my old approach to my life's work was this:

I am going to work myself to death for you, and if you don't give me the world in return, that is a moral failure.

Isn't that a biting statement? There is the entitlement out in the open. I'm not proud to have thought this way at all, and I'm sorry to all of you have had to put up with this mindset from me. But there it is.

Now. Where do we go from here? Well, during my unemployed ruminations over the past few weeks, I came across Dr. Alok Kanojia's (AKA HealthyGamerGG on Youtube) video on motivation, fairness, and how we're not entitled to anything. He talked about how, since life is unfair and unpredictable, we are not entitled to the results of our actions. We don't automatically have the right to the outcome of an action. We only have the actions themselves. Studying doesn’t entitle us to an A+. We are only entitled to the studying itself. That’s the way of the universe. In my old job, I prioritized work above all else. I forewent classes that I ended up failing or dropping. I begged to work overtime. I was, in the words of multiple others, "kicking ass." Then I decided I was entitled to something because of it. And I got angry when that was not satisfied. That is where I went wrong. It is true that I was promised a few things that did not come to fruition. Maybe it was morally acceptable to be angry about unfulfilled promises. But like I said, I’m done caring about that. That's not what it is about anymore.

What is it about is action. All we have in life is our actions. The more I think about what I value, the more I see the emphasis on action.

When we say to live in the present instead of the past or future, we're talking about action, since the present is the only time action can happen

When we roll our eyes at the person who says "I'm the idea guy," we're valuing action

The concept "Show, don't tell" works, because it is about action

Giving your soul to a job/person/thing who didn't even ask for it, then holding out your hand and saying "Gimme" is not about action. It is focused on outcome. Maybe it’s not fair that we can’t expect equal rewards in return for our work all the time. And on paper, it really is. Give X, get X. Seems fair and logical. But for me, for that to be the starting place and the motivation for my work no longer serves me. I’m not saying fairness isn’t a worthy goal or that it is bad. Fairness can be the outcome of a good mission. But it is not required to complete the mission. And it’s not going to be the sole motivator for my decisions, because life is grey and humans can’t always deliver on promises, through no fault of their own. What I'm not going to do anymore is throw my hands up and say, "Sorry, this is unfair so I quit.”

Where this leaves me is that I'm reconsidering my career--not only how I approach the work but the field I chose entirely. In the past, I tried to do biomedical research, but I failed. I have also enrolled and unenrolled in many an EMT class and have taken and failed Biology, Chemistry, and Physics classes repeatedly. This was all because of a hazy dream of being a doctor that has sat in the back of my mind every day. 

I kept trying out this doctor dream, but I would always hit a tiny snag, exaggerate it, and give up. I have gone through about 10 multi-month cycles of this for years. And guess what the snags were:

That professor gave me a B+ instead of an A on a single exam. Pre-med education is inherently unfair, and I'm not putting up with this.

I have to study this bio concept that I probably won't even use if I become a real doctor. That's a waste of my time, so I'd rather fail/drop than learn it.

Doctors have to get up at 5am? That goes against science on sleep schedules, so I'm not going to do it.

How pissy and entitled? Who thinks like that? Me, apparently--or who I hope to be "old me."

How did I get so caught up in what is fair or unfair that I lost sight of the forest for the trees? News flash, self... everything is unfair! Gym is always packed? Unfair. Fighting cancer? Unfair. Some idiot who cares less than you do got picked for the job? Unfair. Hell, the unfairness of life is half the reason why we even get up in the morning. Name a career that isn’t about taking an unfair situation and turning it into a better one. (If you can, maybe don’t do that career.) We do stuff as humans, because it’s unfair. Or the alternative, not doing it, would be unfair. If doctors threw up their hands because disease is unfair, we’d still be fighting polio. I wouldn’t make it one second in caveman times with my old attitude. The hungry lions staring at my caveman camp don’t care what I think is fair.

So here's the mission. We are going to look unfair things in the face and still do them. Despite their unfairness. Despite the fear that something will take more than it gives. Despite the brain saying, "This is inefficient, so let's not do it at all." In fact, it's because of their unfairness that we will do them. Then we can leave them better off for someone else. Or do them better the next time. I am calling this Project Sour Grapes. It starts right now.

[wildmichaelflower]

Our Forevers

Pairings: teacher!Michael/teacher!Calum/teacher!Reader

Warnings: Angst (that gets resolved), Mentions of food and water, Mentions of alcohol, Discussion of insecurities

Word Count: 1,477

     Being a teacher was not an easy job, but it was the job you loved. You taught American and World History to high school students and, even in your fourth year, you took a sense of joy in seeing the interest beaming in your students eyes as you taught them about the eras of the past. This year, however, graduation would be just more bittersweet. Your first freshman class were seniors, and were just weeks away before beginning their adult lives. You were happy for them, of course, especially when many discussed how excited they were to begin college or job trainings. One of your partners, Calum, who taught middle school gym, tried to empathize you by discussing how he felt watching his first sixth grader class, now grown into eighth graders,prepare to go into high school in the fall.

“Be careful of those new freshmen in the fall,” he smiled as you two preapred dinner one night, “They’re full of angst and their favorite lunch days are pizza. Otherwise they only care about video games and the brands of their clothes.”

“Are you calling me an eighth grader?” Michael joked as he walked into the room, fresh from his shower, hair still dripping wet.

You giggled softly at his remark before following it with, “No, you have actually learned how to wear Axe spray.”

Calum chuckled, “The only correct way is to not wear it.” He shook his head as he added chopped vegetables to the salad, “The boys’ locker room will always smell like it, and I have to remind them not to spray it near my office.” 

Michael grinned as he took a piece of garlic bread from the plate on the island, “Damn, I thought reminding second graders to wash hands before snack was hard.”

You smiled and turned to turn one of the burners off, covering the now completed sauce before focusing on the noodles. 

“How are things in the doghouse anyway?” You smiled. Doghouse referred to his classroom, a joke Michael took great pride in. His first second graders said his last name reminded them of a cartoon red giant dog, and since then, his classroom door was designed like the entrance of a doghouse, and on the morning of the first day, students created a form of dogtag to personalize their desk. 

He swallowed quickly before explaining a moment between a ‘Bobby’ and a ‘Susan’. Silly generic names were common in your household, as real names were legally protected, but it did make the stories enjoyable as well. 

"Little Bobby had told Susan that if she didn't marry him on the playground, no one ever would. Poor girl was in tears," Michael shook his head before getting a beer. He took a few sips, before continuing, "I had to explain that no one was getting married on the playground that day." He grinned mischievously at his lovers, "but one day? Who knows?" 

You laughed at the blonde man's suggestion before handing him his plate, kissing his cheek as he got salad from Calum, who chuckled in response as well.

"Yeah? You got the rings to propose first mister?" Calum smirked as he played the vegetables before giving Michael a kiss on the opposite cheek. 

Michael blushed and shook his head, "Not yet, it's not we're made of money. I would have to get two engagement rings, other teachers barely scrape enough to get one." 

It was true money was occasionally tight, no one went into teaching for money, but you three got by. Michael's tone, however, implied that he was genuinely upset.

You and Calum shared a look behind Michael's back as he went to sit down and Calum followed, placing the salad and garlic table In the center of the table before resting his hands on Michael's shoulder. 

"Bunny, it's ok. We don't need fancy rings to be happy." He smiled softly and kissed his boyfriend's head. 

You nodded, placing your and Calum's plates at the respective places on the table before kneeling on the ground, giving Michael a small smile as he looked at you before taking one of his hands. 

"Cinnamon, we need you happy to be happy," you whisper, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles, "Nothing more." 

Usually your and Calum's nicknames for your lover brought a smile to his face, but he seemed to stare past you, through you. 

This was serious for him, and the best thing to do was to stay where you were, providing comfort until he found the words he needed to get off his chest.

Finally he moved his hands, the right on top of yours on his right knee, the left interlocked with the hand Calum placed on his right shoulder. He took a deep breath, before confessing,

"I love you both, you two are my sunbeam and snowball but I'm terrified for our future. I don't know if you noticed, but I have no idea what I'm doing. I almost never do." 

You and Calum shared a look again but allowed Michael to continue. 

"I want to marry you both, but I feel I'm not good enough for the two of you. You two are both so amazing at your job, while all I do is get paid to play with kids," he took a deep breath, emotion overwhelming his steady tone, "A-and I love my job, my kids are great, but when we go tell people our careers, I feel I don't get the same respect, because I'm in elementary. That's not on you two, of course," he smiled softly, giving each hand a reassuring squeeze, but there was no ignoring the tear that was falling down his cheek, "but when I speak of forever, I want to mean it. I do mean it." He leaned in to your touch as you wiped his tears, his hand gently placed on your wrist. 

He sniffed then looked into your eyes, "I guess what I need to know is that our forevers last the same amount of time. It wouldn't be the same without either of you." 

You nodded, your own tears forming as you whispered, "Of course Cinnamon, there's nowhere else I rather be than here with you and Peppermint," you looked at Calum, who nodded, kissing Michael's head again as his own tears fell into the older man's hair. 

"We're sorry we never noticed, bunny. We're always here if you get scared or nervous. About your career, about us. Anything. Forever." Calum smiled and moved so he and Michael were face to face. 

Michael nodded,giving you both gentle kisses before rubbing his face, wiping away the remnants of the tears.

"God," he smiled softly, "I really am lucky. The best lovers in the world chose not only each other but me as well." 

"Nah, we're the lucky one babe." You slowly stood up, rubbing his back, "Are you ok if we start eating or would you like to come back to dinner and have cuddles?" 

He shook his head, "I'm starving," he smiled, "and I've been looking forward to this spaghetti since you and Sunbeam mentioned in our group chat."

You nodded and went to heat up the food as Calum prepared drinks.

"I don't know," Calum smirked as he sat Michael's glass of water down, "I'm kinda craving themattababy now." 

Michael frowned in confusion as he took small sips, before asking, "What's themattababy?"

"Nothing," Calum's grin grew as Michael had fallen into his trap, "What's the matter with you?" 

You bit your lip to hold your giggle as Michael let out a loud, disappointed groan. 

You set the plates back down and Michael gently grabbed your hand, doing his best to hold a serious expression but his failed attempts to not smile finally brought your giggle out. 

"Snowball, I'd like to return one boyfriend please. He worked fine until I realized he made terrible jokes. Very defective, cannot be put back on the market."

You smiled and played along, "Oh? And how much did you pay for this defective boyfriend?" 

"A whole makeout session," he smirked, winking at the boyfriend in question.

You laughed and glanced at Calum, who was trying to cover his grin with a playful pout as he set the last two cups down, "Well I am unable to provide a full refund at this moment, I can give you a coupon of equal value." You smirked.

"Deal." Michael grinned.

"Please," Calum playfully rolled his eyes, "You two wouldn't get rid of me that easily." he sat down at his usual spot of the circular table, on Michael's left and your right. 

You smiled and nodded, kissing Michael before sitting down, kissing Calum's cheek. 

"We're here for forever." Michael promised, smiling as his lovers nodded in confirmation.

Forever, you decided, would be the perfect starting spot for the men you loved.

[jedi-order-apologist]

I’m ... so confused by the force, like light side vs dark side. Is it like each side has powers the other side can’t access? What if you were force-sensitive and decided to be neither jedi nor sith, would you have access to both sides of the force? In rise of skywalker when rey heals the giant worm snake thing, and when she heals kylos stab wound, and when kylo quite literally brings her back from the dead, isn’t that a dark side power? (1/?)

And who decides whether or not you’re a jedi or sith? With the jedi I know you have to join the Order but what if you were simply a force user who only drew from the light side? Kylo was evil as fuck but he wasn’t a sith, is that because he just decided he didn’t want to be one? And also why did he act like a completely different person once he turned good? It’s not like he was possessed by a ghost of the dark side or anything, his intentions just changed from bad to good (2/?)

And how does he even “turn” good? Like we see that he’s remorseful after talking to Han but does the force just go “oh he seems sad, I guess he can have access to the light side then”? The same goes for Anakin’s redemption, he’s evil for half his life and suddenly has a change of heart and dies like 30 seconds later and who decides it’s good enough for him to come back to the light side? Oh god the more I type the more confused I get (3/4)

But I am so sorry for bombarding you like this & of course you don’t have to answer all these questions or even this ask at all, I just wanted to get it out, and if there’s supplementary material like comics or video games or tv shows that explain it further then I am extra sorry for rambling at you instead of looking for answers in them LOL (4/4)

Outside of game mechanics, there aren’t really “light side” and “dark side” powers. It’s about the mindset that you approach and use the Force with, not static qualities or powersets. The dark side is about selfishness and other associated ills - cruelty, suffering, fear, greed, etc, but more specifically, not about those things themselves but rather about letting those things drive your actions. I see falling to the dark side as something rooted in defeatism, where one gives up resisting the temptation to give into those things - the Sith take it a step further and don’t just give up resisting temptation, but actively seek those things to make everything worse. The “light side” (though it’s not actually referred to as such in the first six films) is about being committed to resisting those darker impulses and temptations - sometimes you slip up but you only fall when you give up and stop striving to be good/selfless as much as you can. People are not “light” or “dark”, but rather, they resist the dark or else they give into it. The language that the characters use when talking about the fallen is not “they are dark” but “they were seduced by it, consumed by it”. It’s a philosophical concept present within everyone that they have to contend with, not an attribute or even truly an alignment.

Or, to borrow my explanation from the last time I complained about the concept of grey Jedi:

Think of it as though you’re in a river with a powerful current, and there’s a high cliff and a waterfall downstream. You can’t get out of the river (because the river is the Force, and it’s everywhere. I suppose you can cut yourself off from the Force, and that’d be kind of like getting out of the river, but it’s not something most people do). You can swim against the current or you can swim with it, but if you don’t swim at all, you’ll still be swept downstream and over the waterfall (i.e. falling to the darkside). Staying in place isn’t grey, because you’ll still have to be swimming against the current to achieve that, and for the Jedi at least, it’s about staying away from the waterfall downstream, not reaching some defined place upstream. Even if you don’t advance, you haven’t been swept downstream and over the waterfall. Even if you slip back a little, as long as you keep swimming, you still haven’t been swept downstream. Only when you give up will you get swept away and fall down the waterfall. If it doesn’t kill you, it’s going to be hell to get back up it, if you can even convince yourself that you want to. It might be freezing and miserable at the foot of the waterfall, and as long as you were swimming up top the water was warm, but what’s the point in climbing back up if you think you’re just going to get swept back down again? Maybe if you dive deeper into the lake at the foot of the waterfall, as cold and miserable as it is, you’ll find something to make being down here worthwhile? You won’t, of course. At best you’ll just get used to the cold.

So there isn’t a sustainable middle ground between “light” and “dark”, because there isn’t a way to be suspended in the middle of the waterfall. And there definitely isn’t a way to be both at the top in the river and at the bottom in the lake at the same time. The ones who are “redeemed” are the ones who managed to pull themselves out of that destructive, defeatist mindset and climb back up the cliff - it’s not simply a matter of flipping a switch, and had they lived, they would’ve had to have kept doing the work of swimming against the current just like everyone else, and probably would’ve had a lot more difficulty with it than those who had never fallen over the waterfall in the first place.

But you definitely can be a Force-user who isn’t a Jedi or a Sith. You’ll still be subject to the way that the Force works, so you’re either giving into the dark side or resisting it, but the Jedi are a unique culture with their own traditions, values, beliefs, way of teaching, expectations etc, etc, as well as (at least during the prequels) a defined role that is granted specific jurisdiction under the authority of the Republic government. It’s definitely possible to still believe in resisting temptation to evil and not be in that role, and not follow those traditions or consider yourself part of that culture or organization. And the Sith differ from other darksiders in that they believe in actively seeking and embracing this selfishness - basically, they don’t just give up swimming against the current, they start swimming with it and dive right off the waterfall. They seek power, and power alone, for power’s sake. The dark side does have a way of sliding everyone in its grasp towards that in the end, because power promises an easy way out - very tempting to those stuck in a defeatist mindset - but for the Sith it’s not just a consequence, but the goal itself.

[bigskydreaming]

The Ric Grayson AND Talon storylines both end at the same time, and in the same way:

Great Grandpa Creeper Cobb successfully manipulates Ric into position to be brainwashed and become the Talon that Willie the Weenie has always wanted him to be.....this happens for like, two issues.

Then Grandpa Get Ye To A Graveyard Already fucks up....he accidentally brings Talon Ric within sighting distance of the Court’s latest crop of prospective Talon recruits, including a wee baby ten year old orphan being trained to be a future Talon.

And the essential corn kernel of Dick Grayson’s essence, deep down in his psyche, just fucking POPS like its Orville Redenbacher and someone just nuked it in the microwave.

And the real Dick Grayson comes SHRIEKING to the forefront of Talon!Ric’s brain, nothing subtle about it, and the next thing his Rancid Relative knows, he’s being fucking impaled by his great grandson’s blades as said great grandson, who is SUPPOSED to be docilely brainwashed, wtf, is already halfway across the room, diving into the mass of other Talons like they’re a collection of bowling pins and he’s a wrecking ball straight out of a Miley Cyrus music video, but instead of the caterwauling lyrics “I never hit so haaaaaaaard in love,” Dick’s accompanied by a soundtrack of him screaming:

“I WILL PROTECT YOU SMOL CHILD!!!”

As said smol child is just standing there, staring, like....dude, wut?

And then Dick finishes absolutely DESTROYING everything undead and nefarious in sight like he’s the Tasmanian Devil on meth, and he turns to said smol child and begins the process of Smothering, as his hands flutter all up and down checking for injuries but not touching, like: 

“Did they hurt you are you alright you’re safe now cough once for I’m all good or punch me in the no-no’s if I’m making you feel unsafe, I will make sure you are totally safe from here on out, you are my baby now, I have decided, but like, only if you want to be.”

And smol child is decidedly overwhelmed but Man-Who-Speaks-Like-He-Has-Pixie-Sticks-In-Place-Of-Blood-Vessels seems harmless, if weird, and is definitely preferable to the weird Bird Men who kidnapped him off the streets and tried to teach him how to kill people and make death threats out of nursery rhymes. And he doesn’t have a lot of experience in OTHER subterranean lairs to compare this one too, but he’s decidedly not a fan, so when Dick asks if he would like him to take him to see Batman and Batgirl and Robin and other superheroes who can also reassure him there will be no more homework on How To Torture People Good, he’s like....”yeah I guess. If you want.”

And so Dick scoops him up with glee and takes off through the tunnels, yelling back over his shoulder: “Bye Greatly-Gross-Grandpa, hate you lots, don’t call, don’t write, you’re officially off my Christmas card list, hasta la neeeeeeeeeever.”

Thereupon swiftly grappling across the Bludhaven rooftops, yelling PARKOUR! just because he can and its fun, and its weirdly relaxing for his wee passenger, because look, this dude may be weird as fuck, but he’s clearly got the moves to protect him from the Undead Legions of Ornithologists and he seems too....fun to be evil, like not in the Joker kinda way like he’s seen on TV in previous foster homes where its like, jeez dude, try hard much, but more like an adult who just quit a soul-crushing cubicle-dwelling corporate-craphole job and has suddenly been reminded that the sky is blue, flowers smell good, and there IS a Santa Claus, Virginia.

Thus by the time they arrive at Wayne Manor, with no attempt made to hide where they’re going from his wee passenger’s eyes - Dick has already decided he’s keeping the kid, pending said kid’s approval but look, kids like him and he’s determined to bring his A game to the pitch meeting, so he likes his chances - said wee passenger disembarks in the Batcave but stays close by, clinging to Dick’s side in an ever so slight way that allows for plausible deniability later, once he gets his bearings and also his bravado back.

“Dick?!” Comes the chorus of voices from the rest of the family, who are all there already, by great coincidence and in great defiance of the crapfests in their own individual titles, but also who the fuck cares. And Dick puffs out his chest, cuz he’s putting on a good show for his new kiddo, first impressions are important...

“Tis I, fam! The one true Dick Grayson has returned! Huzzah!”

Look, being completely oblivious to his Greatest Dork Energy coinciding with his Times He Most Attempts To Be Impressive, is like, Peak Dick Grayson characterization, you can trust me, I’m a doctor. 

And Tim’s like, “Why are you dressed like a Talon?”

And Dick’s like, “Isn’t the better question why AREN’T you dressed like a Talon?”

Which makes no sense but shhh, I’m running out of steam here, don’t question the atmosphere, just let it be.

And Bruce is like, “Who’s your friend?”

With like...designs and agendas already in mind, because said wee Talon-to-be is cute and adorable and bravely trying to act like he is not at all intimidated by his surroundings and is in total control of what’s going on like, he meant to be here, this is all according to plan, yes, excellent, everything is progressing nicely....

Which as everyone knows, are the three key essential traits Bruce looks for in prospective adoptees....

So Dick snarls and later blames it on residual Talon-ness, they’re very territorial bird...assassin....people....anyway, the adrenaline is still high and also he has swiftly become attached because whether kiddo knows it or not, Dick 100% credits him with the brainwash-breaking and thus when factored in with the cuteness quotient, what we have here is an instant recipe for Protectiveness slash Possessiveness that would be creepy and inappropriate if this wasn’t pure crack. 

But crack it is, and thus Dick curls a protective arm around the kiddo like the lap-bar on a particularly turbulent roller coaster and applies G-Force sufficient to keep even Superman from prying him out of his hands - but in a gentle, non- ’crushing kinda way that might hurt the kiddo,’ even though physics doesn’t work like that, except look, these are CRACK PHYSICS, they can and they do work like that. 

And he’s all, “I already adopted him, so back off, Bruce, I’ll cut you. But also hi dad, I missed you. In spirit I mean, like I had amnesia and then I was brainwashed so technically its probably a reach to say I missed anyone but just roll with it. Also I can haz hugs now, please?”

And then Damian apparates in front of Dick amid a cloud of Disapproval that’s really just a cover for OMG-I-Was-Without-You-And-It-Was-Terrible-And-I’m-So-Glad-You’re-Back-But-Also-Who-Is-This-Interloper-And-Why-Is-He-Stealing-My-Hug.

“Tt. Grayson. Your absence was...less than desirable. See to it that this doesn’t happen again. Also what is that and why is it here.”

“Aww, Dami, I’m sorry. I promise to install a “please have the nearest available psychic reboot my brain in case of future brain damage slash amnesia” clause in my living will, and soon as I get a free second, I’ll break the fourth wall and blackmail the DC editorial staff into declaring me off-limits for all death, brainwashing and/or kidnapping plots for at least the next four major crossover events. I have naughty pictures. They’ll cave.”

“Hmph,” Dami says. He resumes staring pointedly at the kiddo, who juts his chin defiantly and stares back while clinging more tightly to Dick, because he may have very little clue what’s going on, but he’s a quick one and has at least picked up on the fact that Dick wants him and this other kid wants Dick. Which combined with the rescuing and the kicking of bad guy ass means Dick is probably Quality and In Demand and Of Value, and thus he might as well stake a claim now and worry about whether or not to act on that or skedaddle later, once he’s got more intel. He’s a natural Bat, this one, but then, that’s probably why he was in Toddler Talon Boot Camp, he scored high on whatever weird aptitude tests they used to scope out talent, and by talent we mean murder-skills.

“Dami,” Dick admonishes then, “This isn’t an it, he’s a person, and he was recently traumatized so promise me you’ll be on your best behavior or at least your ‘engaging in shenanigans with Jon’ behavior. And he’s not competition, you’re my Dames and my little bro, and he’s potentially your nephew, which is a whole separate category and no threat to you and your baby bro status at all, so retract the claws. If anything, the real danger is Pops adopting him and thus supplanting you as the official Baby Bird of our generation, so make like an ally and help me get that dangerous “I’m gonna adopt this kid so hard” gleam out of Bruce’s eye before it gets any gleamier. We’re still only halfway through my tearful reunion and having to cut Dad before we even get to cake would be a major mood-killer, but I’ll do it, I swear. Also, get your Baby Bird behind over here and hug me already, I have two arms.”

Damian rolled his eyes but obediently disappeared and reappeared nestled against Dick’s other side in the blink of an eye. The proper application of ninja skills has always been the pursuance of hugs and cuddles. Thus sayeth the crack.

“Hey, I do get cake, right?” Dick asked suddenly, looking around dangerously. “I was amnesiac and also brainwashed, I deserve cake, TELL me there’s gonna be cake.”

“Well that answers whether or not we should be worried about this being an attempted infiltration or not,” Jason says, strolling over casually. “No impostor or brainwashing script-writer could ever duplicate the Essence de Dick so perfectly. Hey squirt. Welcome to the madhouse. I’m Jason, what’s your name?”

“Oh right,” Dick realized, cocking his head. “Hey, what is your name?”

“Really, Dick?” Tim sighed, fondly exasperated. “I realize you like to jump from A straight to Z whenever possible, but steps B through Y aren’t usually just mere suggestions.”

“It hadn’t come up yet,” Dick defended himself.

“Yes, why would it have,” Duke mused from where he was leaning over and snapping his fingers in front of Bruce’s eyes, in a futile attempt at tearing his gaze away from the viable adoption candidate within 20 meters from him. It was probably best that they get this adoption thing inked out and signed off on as soon as possible - it was the only thing that was definitively going to get that “Argh, I’ve spotted treasure ahoy” look out of Bruce’s eyes. And Alfred had been very clear :Bruce was forbidden to adopt any more kids himself until he got a better handle on juggling the six he already had. Which. The past year had...probably not met Alfred’s standards on, so it didn’t seem likely he’d be waiving that requirement any time soon. 

(And nobody wanted to get in between the Unstoppable Force that was Bruce’s ‘must adopt all the orphans’ and the Immovable Object that was Alfred’s ‘must maintain at least a reasonable fascimile of order in this household, even if it is a total sham, appearances matter.’)

“Hey!” Dick protested. “I’ve been busy, okay? There was fighting and then there was parkouring and now we’re reunifying, and it wasn’t like I was just calling him ‘that kid’ in my head, I was calling him ‘my kiddo’ which is a perfectly reasonable identifier and thus more specific detail just....hadn’t been relevant yet!”

“So uh, bee tee dubs, what is your name, buddy?” Dick asked, looking down. His kiddo looked back up at him for a long, measuring moment, and then he shrugged.

“I’ll tell you in exchange for some cake. You said something about there being cake, but I don’t see any.”

Dick got misty-eyed at that. “See? He already prioritizes like me. This was destiny! Also, you heard my kiddo, do we not deserve cake? It has been a very long day, there was murder and mayhem and more. Also, my creeper great grandpa was there being icksome, and you know how much that weirds me out.”

“Come along, Master Dick,” Alfred said then, appearing out of nowhere thanks to his Bat-Butler Magic. “And your young charge as well. I already have your favorite baking in the oven and it should be done shortly. Lemon meringue with raspberry layers.”

“That’s disgusting and I will not participate in any ceremony that treats that as part of a celebration instead of just a weird kind of laxative,” Jason said loftily, though it escaped no one’s notice that he was the first to the stairs.

“Shut your facehole, its delicious and amazing and you will like it or I will kick your ass,” Dick said, equally loftily.

“Boys,” Bruce said with a long-suffering sigh, as the threat of brotherly bloodshed was enough to finally shake him out of his orphan-induced stupor.

“At MARIO KART. I will kick his ass at MARIO KART, ugh, jeez, B, why do you always assume the worst of us?”

“Precedent,” Tim said dryly.

“Who the hell asked the Oompa Loompa Brigade to weigh in with all ninety of his pounds?” Jason called back from the top of the stairs. 

Cass came up on Dick’s left, where the kiddo was one half of the sandwich made by him and Damian on Dick’s other side. She smiled down at him when he directed his still very wide-eyed gaze at her, landing on her after his latest sweep of the cavern and all its contained chaos, as if trying to take it all in - most likely in the hopes that if he could manage that, somehow the last 72 hours of his life might suddenly make sense. He really was adorable.

“Don’t worry,” she beamed at him, reaching out to pat him comfortingly on his shoulder, right above where Dick’s arm was still curled around it like a warm blanket - albeit one with the tensile hold of a python. “They’re all crazy, but only in the good ways.”

Duke scoffed as he slipped ahead of them and started taking the stairs two at a time. “It’s funny how you say that like you’re some kind of exception to the rule.”

“Bold words, little brother,” Cass called after him. He only shouted back from the top in a booming voice, his words echoing down the narrow stone stairway dramatically.

“Am I not Batclan?”

“Oooh, is that a new thing we’re doing?” Dick asked excitedly. “Somebody catch me up, I demand context. I smell a story there.”

“It was Jason’s fault,” Tim said automatically. Dick nodded.

“Sure, that tracks. Continue.”

Bruce trailed after his brood of batlings and birdlets, sidling over to where Barbara was waiting for the elevator. The latter having hung back to watch the commotion with the air of one taking notes for repurposing in the form of future blackmail material. Her ever extending network of spies and informants made so much more sense, suddenly.

He cleared his throat while they listened to the hum of the elevator’s machinery as it descended to their level.

“I wasn’t really thinking of adopting the boy,” he said. Not at all sullenly, nor with a trace of defensiveness to be found.

“Of course you weren’t, Bruce,” Barbara said. She patted his arm fondly, with all the conviction of a kindergarten teacher whose student was attempting to claim innocence on the matter of a paint disaster perfectly matching the paint stains on his hands.

“I wasn’t,” Bruce muttered as she preceded him into the elevator. 

Why did nobody ever believe him?

[kainhurst]

Hey, Alex. I hope you don't mind this inquiry. I have been following you for a few years now, on Twitter. I admire your openness when it comes to mental illness. How have you been during the quarantine? I am having a very hard time. This is the worst I have been in years and its horrifying. I've never thought so much about death. How do you manage? feel free to ignore this if its too invasive.

First off, thank you for reaching out. If you’re anything like me, I know how difficult it is to speak up when emotions are heavy. This is a huge step. I’m proud of you. Truthfully, I’ve not being holding up too well, as I am sure you’ve noticed. My tweets have been...all over the place, to say the least. I can only play so many games and listen to so much music before it all begins to feel the same. However, I will help in whatever way I can. It’s important to be patient with yourself. Your feelings are always valid, especially when things seem so uncertain. Allow yourself time and space to be sad, angry, and scared. Not a single person with sense will fault you for it. You don’t have to be productive, nor must you prove yourself to anyone or anything. It’s okay to do nothing. Sleep all day, eat shitty food, play your favorite video game for the 16th time; do whatever you must to improve your mood.

If/when said feelings create too much pressure, it’s okay to talk to someone about it. Again, I recognize the difficulty behind this (hell, I am advising you to do something I still have trouble practicing), but while you may be physically isolated, these sentiments are shared. It is something so many of us can empathize with. I understand the struggle with opening up, but allowing your loved ones to see your vulnerabilities isn’t a burden, or weakness - it’s freeing, it’s strength.

I’m sorry it’s so hard right now. And while I won’t go into details, allow me to say that you’re not alone in the darker thoughts, either. It’s common to entertain these ideas during times of high-crisis. While you may not see it, you are truly loved and valued. Remember that it will get better. I know that’s trite, but it will. It may take a while to settle back into a routine, but this isn’t something that will persist. Things will return to normal, moods will lighten, and you’ll be okay. I promise. When your vision is clouded and it’s hard to see the light at the end of this very dark, unsure tunnel, send me a message and I will reassure you in whatever way I can. I hope this helped, if only a little. I am going through it myself, but I am here for you, nonetheless. Hang in there, my love, and remember to be as kind to yourself as you are to others.

[innuendostudios]

We’re talking about adventure games again! Or, more accurately, we’re speaking in the context of adventure games about why some genres are hard to define, different ways of thinking about genre, and what genre is even for.

If you'd like to see more work like this, please back me on Patreon! Transcript below the cut.

Hi! Welcome back to Who Shot Guybrush Threepwood? Meditations on the life, death, and rebirth of the adventure game.

Adventure game.

Adventure game.

Ad. Ven. Ture. Game.

What kind of name is that, “adventure game”? It’s an atypical way of categorizing video games, I’ll say that much. We usually give game genres titles like "first-person shooter," "real time strategy," “turn-based role-playing game.” Real nuts-and-bolts kinda stuff. Meanwhile, "adventure" seemingly belongs on a turnstyle of airport paperbacks, in between "mystery" and "romance." When they slap that word on a game box, what is it supposed to communicate to us?

Other one-word genres, I can see how they get their name. A horror game is horrifying, a fighting game earns its title. But how is exploring an empty, suburban house an adventure? Why is exploring a universe not?

When I started this series, I offered up the rough-and-tumble definition of adventure game, “puzzles and plots,” and said maybe we’ll come up with a better definition later. That was… four years ago. Sorry about that. I know it’s a little late, and a lot has changed, but I did promise. So we’re gonna do it.

Today’s question is: What makes an adventure game an adventure game?

This is a tricky sort of question to ask, because, upon asking, we might stumble down the highway to “what makes an adventure novel an adventure novel?”, “what makes a rail shooter not an RPG?”, and that road inevitably terminates with “what even is genre?”, the answer to which is a bit beyond the scope of a YouTube video essay… or, it would be on anyone else’s channel, but this is Innuendo Studios. We’ll take the long road.

Welcome to Who Shot Guybrush Threepwood? A philosophical interrogation into the meaning of genre in and beyond the gaming idiom, with the adventure game as our guide.

***

The historical perspective reveals only so much, but it is a place to begin.

If you don’t know the story, in 1976, Will Crowther released Colossal Cave Adventure, a text-based story game set in an underground land loosely based on a real Kentucky cave system. The game would describe what was happening in a given location, and players would type simple commands to perform tasks and progress the narrative, usually a verb linked to a noun like a book that writes itself and responds to directives. This was the first of what we’ve come to call “interactive fiction.”

Crowther’s game - often abbreviated, simply, Adventure - inspired a number similar titles, most famously Zork, which was called an “adventure game” for the same reason Rise of the Triad was called a “Doom clone” - because they were more or less mechanically identical to the games they descended from. This is where the genre gets its title.

But the evolution from then to now has been oddly zero-sum, every addition a subtraction. As more and more adventure games came out, the text descriptions were eventually replaced with graphics, still images replaced with animations, the parser replaced with a verb list, and the keyboard itself replaced with a mouse. In the progression of Zork to Mystery House to King’s Quest to Maniac Mansion to Monkey Island, you can see how each link in the chain is a logical progression from the game preceding and into the one that follows. But you end up with a genre that began comprised entirely of words on a screen but that, by the early 90’s, typically possessed but did not, strictly speaking, require language. There is no question wordless experiences like Dropsy and Kairo are direct descendents of Monkey Island and Myst; that they are therefore in the same genre as Wishbringer, despite zero obvious mechanical overlap, is, for a medium that typically names its genres after their mechanics… weird.

(Also, for anyone confused: Nintendo used to delineate games that explored a continuous world from games that leapt across a series of discrete levels by calling the latter “platformers” and the former “adventures,” and an earlier game in that model was the Atari game Adventure, which was, itself, a graphical adaptation of the Crowther original, so what 90’s kids think of when they hear “a game in the style of Adventure” depends on whether they played on computer or console, but that lineage eventually embraced the even fuzzier “action-adventure” and is not what we’re here to discuss.)

So the connection between the genre’s beginnings and its current incarnation is less mechanical than philosophical. Spiritual, even. Something connects this to this, and we’re here to pin down what.

Now, you may be readying to say, “Ian, it’s clear the determinant of what is or isn’t an adventure game is pure association and there is no underlying logic, you don’t need to think this hard about everything,” which, ha ha, you must be new here. I would counter that, as soon as a genre has a name, people will (not entirely on purpose) start placing parameters around what they consider part of that genre. Even if it’s just association, there is some method to which associations matter and which ones don’t. So shush, we’re trying to have a conversation.

***

Another one-word genre named after a philosophical connection to a single game is the roguelike, christened after 1980’s Rogue. And, in 2008, members of the International Roguelike Development Conference in Berlin set about trying to define the genre. (I promise I’m not just going to summarize that one episode of Game Maker’s Toolkit.) Attendees began with a corpus of five games that, despite not yet having an agreed-upon definition, were, unequivocally, roguelikes, an attitude roughly analogous with the Supreme Court’s classification of pornography: “even if I can’t define it, I know it when I see it.” And, from these five games, they attempted to deduce what makes a roguelike a roguelike.

So perhaps we can follow their example. We’ll take a corpus of five games and see what they have in common. How about The Secret of Monkey Island, Gabriel Knight: Sins of the Fathers, Myst, Beneath a Steel Sky, and Trinity? All five visually and mechanically dissimilar - three third-person and two-dimensional, one first-person and three-dimensional, and one second-person and made of text (no-dimensional?) - yet no one would dispute they’re all adventure games.

Okay! We can see a lot of common features: dialogue trees, inventory, fetch quests. But here’s the rub: to define the genre by the first two would be to leave out Myst, and defining it by the third would leave out Gabriel Knight, and, honestly, any one of these would exclude LOOM, which I think anyone who’s played one would look at and say, “I know an adventure game when I see one.”

For the sake of inclusivity, we could go broad, as I did with my “puzzles and plots,” and, while this does include everything on our list, it also, unavoidably, includes games that provoke the wrong reaction, like Portal - “I know a puzzle-shooter when I see one” - and Inside - “I know a puzzle-platformer when I see one.” Trying to draw a line around everything that is an adventure game while excluding everything that is not is no easy feat.

The best adventure game definitions are written in a kind of legalese; Andrew Plotkin and Clara Fernandez-Vara have both tackled this, I would say, quite well, with a lot of qualifications and a number of additional paragraphs that specify what counts as “unique results” and “object manipulation.” It takes a lot of words! And no disrespect - I can’t have an opinion in less than twenty minutes anymore - but I can’t help thinking we could go about this a different way.

What the Berliners cooked up in 2008 was, instead of a lengthily-worded definition, a list of high- and low-value factors a game may have. The absence of any one was not disqualifying, but the more it could lay claim to the more a game was… Rogue-like. These were features that could exist in any game, in any genre, but when they clustered together the Berliners drew a circle around them and say, “the roguelike is somewhere in here.”

A central idea here is that the borders are porous. If we apply this thinking to the adventure game, we could say that Inside and Portal are not lacking in adventure-ish gameplay; they simply have too low a concentration of it to be recognized as one.

This is genre not as a binary, but as a pattern of behavior.

***

So, to unpack that a little, I’m going to use an allegory, and, before I do, I want you to know: I’m sorry.

In 2014, professor and lecturer Dr. Marianna Ritchey, as a thought experiment demonstrating the socratic method (I’m sorry), hypothesized a conversation between Socrates and Euthyphro (I’m sorry) in which Socrates posed the internet’s second-favorite argument: is a hotdog a sandwich? (I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We’re doing sandwich discourse.)

Ritchey imagined Socrates asking Euthyphro to define “sandwich,” and sparking the dialectic in which Euthyphro offers up increasingly-specific definitions of “sandwich” and Socrates challenges each one with something non-sandwich that would necessarily fall under that definition: is a hotdog a sandwich? is a taco a sandwich? are three slices of bread a sandwich?

Now, in this scenario, Socrates is - as is his wont - being a bit of a tool. Euthyphro does all the work of coming up with these long, legalistic definitions and, with one, single exception, Socrates sends him back to square one. But Socrates is making a point, (or, rather, Ritchey is): can we really claim to know what a sandwich is, if we can’t explain why it’s a sandwich? Perhaps we should admit the limits of our common sense. Perhaps we should embrace the inherent uncertainty of knowledge.

Or perhaps we could tell Socrates to stop having flame wars and think like a Berliner.

Does “sandwich vs. not-sandwich” have to be a binary? Could we not argue that a sandwich has many qualities, few of them critical, but a plurality of which will increase a thing’s sandwichness? Are there many pathways to sandwichness, a certain Platonic ideal of “sandwich” that can be approximated in a variety of ways? What if the experience of “sandwich” can be evoked so strongly by one factor that some leeway is granted with others? What if many factors are present, but none quite so strongly that it generates the expected sensation? The question then becomes which factors contribute most to that experience, and how much slack can be granted on one axis provided another is rock solid.

A sandwich is not merely an object. It is a set of flavors, textures, sensations, and cultural signifiers. We so often try to define objects by the properties they possess and not by the experience they generate. But a sandwich does not exist solely on the plate, but also in the mouth, and in the mind.

Let us entertain that it’s fair to say a difference between a chip butty and a hotdog is that one feels like a sandwich and one does not.

***

In 2012, the internet was besotted with its fourth favorite argument: “Is Dear Esther a video game? You know, like really, is it, though?” And David Shute, designer of Small Worlds, a micro-exploration platformer (and maaaaaaaaybe adventure game?), countered this question with a blog post: “Are Videogames [sic] Games?”

Shute invoked the philosophical concept of qualia. A quale is a characteristic, an irreducible somethingness that a thing possesses, very hard to put into words but, once experienced, will be instantly recognizable when it is experienced again. Qualia are what allow us to, having seen a car, recognize other cars when we see them and not confuse them with motorcycles, even if we haven’t sat down to write a definition for either. And if we did try to formalize the distinction - say, “a car has four wheels and fully encloses the operator” - our Socrates might pop in to say, “Well then, friend, is this not a car? Is this not a car?” To which Shute - and, by extension, we - might comment that Socrates is, once again, being a buttface.

“If I remove the wheels from a car, then it no longer provides the basic fundamental functionality I’d expect a car to have. But it’s still a car – Its carness requires some qualification, admittedly, but it hasn’t suddenly become something else, and we don’t need to define a new category of objects for ‘things that are just like cars but can’t be driven.’”

What’s special about qualia is that they’re highly subjective and yet shockingly universal. We wouldn’t be able to function if we needed a three paragraph definition just to know what a car is. Get anywhere on Route 128?, forget about it. These arguments over the definition of “game” or “sandwich” ask us to pretend we don’t recognize what we recognize. Socrates’ whole rhetorical strategy is pretending to believe pizza is a sandwich. And anyone who doesn’t care about gatekeeping their hobby will see Dear Esther among other first-person, 3D, computer experiences and know instantly that they fall under the same umbrella. Certainly putative not-game Dear Esther has more in common with yes-game Half-Life 2 than Half-Life 2 has with, for instance, chess.

Shute goes on, “To me, it’s obvious that Dear Esther is a videogame, because it feels like one. [W]hen I play Dear Esther I’m experiencing and inhabiting that world in exactly the same way I experience and inhabit any videogame world – it has an essential videogameness that’s clearly distinct from the way I experience an architectural simulation, or a DVD menu, or a powerpoint slideshow. I might struggle to explain the distinction between them in words, or construct a diagram that neatly places everything in strict categories, but the distinction is nonetheless clear.”

This is the move from plate to mouth. If you’re trying to define the adventure game and you’re talking only about the game’s features and not what it feels like to inhabit that world, you’re not actually talking about genre.

***

So if we want to locate this adventure experience, and we agree that it can, theoretically, appear in any game, we might look for it where it stands out from the background: in an action game. Let’s see if we can find it in Uncharted. It’s a good touchstone because we know the adventure experience is about narrative gameplay, and Uncharted has always been about recreating Indiana Jones as a video game; converting narrative into gameplay.

When attempting such a conversion, a central question designers ask is, “What are my verbs?” Nathan Drake’s gotta do something in these games, so we look to the source material for inspiration. A good video game verb is something simple and repeatable, easy to map to a face button, and Indiana Jones has them in abundance: punch, shoot, run, jump, climb, swing, take cover. All simple and repeatable; you can get a lot of gameplay out of those.

But that’s not all there is to Indiana Jones, is there? There’s also… well, colonialism, but turns out that translates pretty easily! But... Indy rather famously solves ancient riddles. And he cleverly escapes certain death, and has tense conversations with estranged family members, and finds dramatic solutions to unsolvable problems. And none of these are simple and repeatable; in fact, they’re dramatic because they’re unique, and because they’re complex. And Uncharted renders all of these sequences the same way: with a button remap.

When Drake talks to his long-lost brother, or discovers the existence of Libertalia, his jumpy-shooty buttons turn into a completely different set of mechanics for just this sequence, and then go back to being jumpy-shooty. Where, typically, you have a narrative tailored around a certain set of core mechanics, here, the mechanics tailor themselves around a certain narrative experience. And each of these narrative experiences tailors the mechanics differently.

What if we made a whole genre out of that?

Adventure games are the haven for all the misfit bits of drama that don’t convert easily into traditional gameplay. In the old games, you’d never ask “what are my verbs,” because they were at the bottom of the screen. Or, if it was a parser game, your list of possible verbs was as broad as the English language; if a designer wanted to, they could, technically, have every valid action in the game involve its own, unique verb. Rather than specialized, the mechanical space of possibility is broad, the verbs open-ended, even vague, meaning different things in different contexts. The idea is that any dramatic beat can be rendered in gameplay provided you can express it with a simple sentence: push statue, talk to Henry, use sword on rope. Nathan Drake shoots upwards of 2000 people in a single game, but he’s not going to solve 2000 ancient riddles, and he shouldn’t. What makes ancient riddles interesting is you’re not going to come across very many in your life. So maybe the mechanics should be as unique as the event itself. And maybe discovering what this event’s unique mechanics are is part of the gameplay.

The best word we have for these moments is “puzzle.”

Adventure games aren’t named after their core mechanics because, by design, adventure games don’t have core mechanics. Puzzles have mechanics, learning them is the game, and they can be whatever you can imagine. Which is not to say they will be; many games over-rely on inventory and jumping peg puzzles. Even in a near-infinite space of possibility, there are paths of least resistance. But many adventure games have neither, and many are built around single mechanics that don’t appear in any other games.

An adventure game puzzle isn’t simply a thing you do to be rewarded with more plot, it is an answer to the game’s repeated question: what happens next? It was literally the prompt in many versions of Colossal Cave. How did The Stranger find the linking book that took them to Channelwood? How did Robert Cath defuse the bomb on the Orient Express? How did Manny Calavera find the florist in the sewers of El Marrow? It is story told through gameplay, and gameplay built for telling stories.

So I would amend my prior definition, “adventure games are about puzzles and plots,” to “adventure games are about puzzles as plots.”

Beyond that, if you want to know what understand the adventure game experience, you may just have to play one (I suggest Full Throttle).

***

Rick Altman argues we too often define genres by their building blocks, and not what gets built out of them. If you want to write science fiction, you have many components to work with: spaceships, time travel, nanomachines. You can make sci-fi out of that. But what if you take the component parts of science fiction and build… a breakup story? Or a tragicomic war novel? Is it still sci-fi? Let me put it to you this way: if somebody asks you to recommend some science fiction to them, and you say "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind," how likely are they to say, "yes, this is exactly what I was asking for"?

Blade Runner is what happens when you use science fiction to build film noir. Dark City is what happens when you use film noir to build science fiction. So what defines a genre, the bricks, or the blueprint? Any meaningful discussion should account for both.

Adventure games are mechanically agnostic, all blueprint. You can build one out of almost anything. We took the long road because the ways we’re used to thinking about genre were insufficient.

***

So: from a few steps back, the adventure game isn’t even that weird. Game genres are usually named after their mechanics, and a small handful are left in the cold by that convention. This would have been a much shorter conversation if not for the fact that video games run on a completely different set of rules from every other medium that has genres.

...but do they, though?

What actually is genre for?

Well, Samuel R. Delany - yes! yes, I’m still talking about this guy - describes genre not as a list of ingredients but a recipe. Imagine for me that you’ve just read the following four words: “the horizon does flips.” If this is just a, for lack of a better word, “normal” story - not genre fiction - that’s gotta be some kind of metaphor, maybe for the protagonist feeling dizzy, or when the drugs start to hit. Whatever it is, it can’t be literal; the earth and sky do not change places in naturalistic fiction.

But they can in fantasy. Certainly stranger things have happened. And they can in science fiction, but by a different set of rules: now there’s a “why.” It’s gotta be something to do with gravity or the warping of space; even if the story doesn’t explain it, it has to convince you, within a certain suspension of disbelief, that such a thing is happening in our universe. Whatever it is, it’s not magic.

These four words can mean many things. Genre informs you which of the many possible interpretations is the correct one. (For what it’s worth, they’re Barenaked Ladies lyrics about being in a car crash.) The label “science fiction” isn’t there to tell you whether a story has rayguns, it’s there so you know which mechanism of interpretation you should employ.

Genre not what’s in the book. It’s how you read the book.

The opening chapters of a mystery novel may be, by the standards of any other genre, excruciatingly dull. A lot of descriptions of scenery and a dozen characters introducing themselves. But, because you know it’s a mystery, these first pages are suffused with portent, even dread, because you know someone’s probably gonna die. And some of these mundane details are just that, but some of them are clues as to who committed a crime that hasn’t even happened yet. You are alert where you would otherwise be bored. And you know to watch for clues, because you know you’re reading a mystery. Those are the genre’s mechanics.

Genre dictates the attention to be paid.

Words, sounds, and images don’t mean things on their own. They have to be interpreted. If part of genre is the audience’s experience, it’s an experience that audience co-creates, and it needs clues as to how. I’ve said before that all communication is collaborative. Here’s what results from that: all art is interactive.

Video games are not unique in this regard, they are simply at the far end of a spectrum. But if the purpose of genre is to calibrate the audience into creating the correct experience, perhaps it makes sense that the most interactive medium would name its genres after what the player is doing.

So the label “adventure game” is, to the best of its ability, doing the same thing as “adventure novel,” and as “first-person shooter,” if, perhaps, a bit inelegantly. There may be better ways to straddle all these lines, but the shorthand reference to an old text game gets the job done.

So that’s the end of our journey. I really hope we can do this again, and preferably not in another four years, but we’ll see how thing shake out. Regardless, I’m glad you were with me, and I’ll see you in the next one. It’s been an adventure.

[cassiexbailey]

text messages // casek

WHO: Derek Gilbert (@derek-ghoulie) and Cassie Bailey with brief mentions of Jackie St. James (@msjackiestjames​)

NOTES: This is just a general update on where they are in their relationship. Things start out okay, but quickly get rocky, and they do not end well. Some of the stuff they talk about later in the texts will be explained in a para we’re still working on.

 CASSIE: Happy New Year, broody.

DEREK: That’s a stupid nickname

CASSIE: It might be stupid but it fits so well

DEREK: I am not broody

CASSIE: Actual video footage of you. Your broody.

CASSIE: 

CASSIE: Accept it.It’s okay though. What else would I call you if you weren’t Broody? Derek? Yeah no. You’re just Broody. You’re even in my phone that way.

DEREK: I regret buying you Christmas gifts.

CASSIE: Awww why? They were so beautiful. I still have yours, by the way. I just haven’t had a chance to get them to you yet.

DEREK: Does your father know?

CASSIE: Know what?

DEREK: That you bought me a romantic gift DEREK: Because you’re so in love with me you can’t function

CASSIE: What makes you think I bought you a romantic gift? CASSIE: Who’s to say I didn’t get you eyebrow wax?

DEREK: Because if it was eyebrow wax the whole broody thing you enjoy wouldn’t work DEREK: And you didn’t deny being in love with me

CASSIE: Somehow, even without the broody eyebrows, you’d still find a way to be broody. Angel didn’t need bushy brows to be broody af. CASSIE: So? [ DELETED ] CASSIE: What of it? [ DELETED ] CASSIE: I didn’t confirm it either. I ignored it. [ DELETED ] CASSIE: I’m not in love with you. Might be in love with your cock, though.

DEREK: I think you’d miss them. DEREK: Uh huh sure Everyone’s in love with my cock that’s not new

CASSIE: I won’t lie. I probably would. You’d look weird without the broody brows. CASSIE: If that’s what you need to tell yourself to stroke that ego of yours, big guy, you keep telling yourself that then. And that is because your cock is amazing. I’ve said it before, but there aren’t many people who can genuinely follow through on the ‘can’t walk the next day’ promise, and you/your cock can, and that’s one of the many reasons I love your cock. CASSIE: But I don’t know if I’d say it extends beyond that.

DEREK: My ego is well deserved thank you very much.

CASSIE: I never said it wasn’t. Your ego is very well deserved.

[ MANY HOURS LATER ]

DEREK: So if you’re not in love with me, then going through my personal belongings was just foreplay?

CASSIE: Fuck. I knew you’d figure it out eventually. Shit. Fuck me. [ DELETED ]  CASSIE: Not foreplay. Curiosity. I have this thing about locks. And admittedly my curiosity tends to get me in trouble. Often. I do apologize. That being said, I just want to maintain that nothing in that box vibrated so your ‘clue’ was misleading.

DEREK: I seriously doubt any apology you give would be sincere. I hope you enjoyed rummaging through some of my father’s things and the knife I’ll kill your uncle with. DEREK: True but I know you didn’t need a clue to find it. I was curious to see if violating my privacy was more important to you than getting Jackie St. James her ring back.

CASSIE: I don’t apologize if I don’t mean it. CASSIE: And I don’t expect you to understand why I wanted to help her get her ring back.

DEREK: Because you’d be devastated if stolen stole your ring from your MIA fiancé?

CASSIE: In my particular case, yes. It’s one of the few things I actually have left from him. CASSIE: But while we’re going down that lane, in case you’re trying to figure out some sort of payback, I’d be more hurt if someone stole the flag from his funeral and the dog tags I keep with it.

[ A BRIEF PAUSE ]

CASSIE: Actually. I do expect you to understand. CASSIE: Just because they’re rich doesn’t mean they aren’t entitled to family heirlooms that mean something to them. That money cant replace for once. To things that mean more than dollar signs. CASSIE: I don’t give a shit about the rest of the stuff that was stolen. I never asked for that back, and I don’t give a shit what was done with it. But I asked for the ring back. Maybe not directly, but you’re a smart man. You knew I was asking for the ring when I asked you if you might have had it. Or whatever the hell I said. I only ask once in matters like this. CASSIE: Jackie St. James is one of the few members of the UNS who isn’t a complete snob with a stick up their ass and their nose in the air. She doesn’t deserve the shit she was put through, and, despite the fact that I don’t think it was you that did it, I can’t say I have a high opinion of the person who took the ring right off her finger just for the sake of seeing ‘little rich girl’ cry. All for the sake of seeing a little chaos.

DEREK: I’m not gonna piss on a soldiers grave. Bad enough I hump his fiancé regularly. DEREK: You knew what we were about. They took it to sell it. DEREK: I confiscated in and locked it away. I knew you’d come looking for it or else I’d of sold it as well. And I knew if I locked it up you’d still find it. DEREK: I was curious to see though if there was any level of respect for my privacy. Which apparently, there isn’t.

CASSIE: It’s been nearly two years. I’ve accepted the fact that it’s very unlikely he’s coming home. CASSIE: But if you have such a problem with us fucking then it can stop.... [ CONTEMPLATES SENDING IT FOR ABOUT TWO OR THREE MINUTES, THEN DELETES IT ] CASSIE: I don’t give a shit that you guys steal. I’ve stolen things. There was a time I made a life out of it. But there’s a difference between stealing shit that can be replaced and stealing shit that has genuine, personal, sentimental value. Shit that is irreplaceable. CASSIE: I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again. I’m sorry. You don’t have to worry, it won’t happen again.

DEREK: Am I seriously getting a lecture about sentimentality from the same person who dug through my incredibly private belongings because she “has a thing about locks”?

CASSIE: I didn’t know you had sentimental shit in there! CASSIE: And, for the record, I never would have gone through it if you guys hadn’t stolen the damn ring in the first place! It was only curiosity in the sense that I thought maybe you locked the ring up. I didn’t know your dads shit was in there. I put everything back the way I found it the second I realized what it was. CASSIE: Are you seriously unable to see why I have an issue with you stealing the ring in the first place?? Or at least not returning it when you learned it had sentimental value?

DEREK: First of all, I didn’t fucking steal it. DEREK: And rather than pawn it off, I held onto it. It was supposed to be a fun game but you had to be fucking nosy. DEREK: Secondly, I do see the issue. But guess what, Red? I don’t give a flying fuck. It wasn’t you I hurt but you’re taking it very personally. DEREK: Maybe psychotic personality runs in all the Anderson genes.

CASSIE: Are you fucking kidding me? You’re the one who fucking dropped my father off, unconscious, clothes burnt, body burnt in places from whatever fell on him, ashes and shit on his clothes. Then refused to fucking tell me what the fuck happened! He’s been sleeping all fucking day, barely conscious, and I can’t even take him to the fucking hospital! Fuck you, asshole. [ DELETED ] CASSIE: Not everything in life has to be some sort of fun, stupid, chaotic fucking game! There comes a point in life where you grow the fuck up! [ DELETED ] CASSIE: You haven’t begun to see psychotic, asshole. [ DELETED ] CASSIE: I’m done with this fucking...everything. [ DELETED ] CASSIE: [ MESSAGE READ ]

[robalchemy]

The Flaw of Attraction

Before we begin, I need to burst a very specific bubble: Spirituality is not going to attract money into your life. There, I said it!

In my journey, I’ve made it very clear to the Universe in no uncertain terms that I desire to live my life for the purpose of service. And the Universe seems to have heard me loud and clear, because I’ve found that as I’ve been going along my journey, others are now beginning to seek ME out to ask guidance. And I couldn’t be happier to offer what I have.

HOWEVER. I’ve noticed an immediate theme: Almost every person that’s sought me out for spiritual guidance all (one way or another) illuded to the same thing in their very first message to me: “How do I use spirituality so that the law of attraction will bring me money and/or material gain?”.

It...Really doesn’t work like that. Sorry, but it simply doesn’t.

Exploring the spiritual or metaphysical side of our existence as humans is a wonderful thing, and frankly - Is inevitable. It’s a part of our evolution that’s as natural as our own consciousness and we all dabble in it from time to time, at the very least.

And I understand this tendancy because it takes one to know one! I’ve been there myself, following the release of the infamous “Secret” which was a great way to take an aspect of the nature of reality and just smear ego all over it and therefore taking it out of context.

I find this is often how the train of thought goes: We tend to percieve material lack in our lives, usually money. Then we watch something like the secret and arrive at the conclusion that the Universe will only listen to you and give you what the ego desires if your vibration is high enough. So we dive straight into the deep end of learning as many spiritual modes as possible FOR THE PURPOSE of raising our vibration so that the Universe will finally say “Okay, now that you’ve done this practice, here’s a pile of cash”.

It’s a gross oversimplification, but so many of us work on this motivation alone and don’t even realize it.

So what’s the point here, other than dashing all our hopes of prosperity?? The point is that it’s not WRONG to go through this materialistic point of view using lack as blame, and therefore motivation to work on one’s self - 100% of the time, experience is the best teacher, and realizing this for yourself is a major step forward. But I’d also like to offer this teaching as a means of potentially avoiding coming to this realization the hard way! (If you’re reading this, then this IS for you. The Universe isn’t an idiot!)

The deeper realization here is two fold: First off, we need to free ourselves of this assumption that only a change in our external curcumstances will ever give us lisence to finally be happy and enjoy life. That’s simply not true, although the ego clings to this idea and blame is the ego’s tool of choice. As long as we’re in a state of blaming everything on anything, then you are always the victim. Always. And you will then continue to be the victim for as long as you’re unwilling to let go and look inward. A big part of this is the simple acceptance that you are already whole and complete. I know it’s hard to accept this when you can’t meet your bills and therefore money is SO EASILY to blame for your unhappiness. “If I didn’t have to worry about money, then I could finally be happy.” But if you pay attention, you will notice this - There’s ALWAYS one more thing that needs to fall into place for you to be happy. Always. And if it’s not money, maybe it’s love. If it’s not love, maybe it’s a health issue. And so on, and so on. You may not believe me, so if that’s the case - Riddle me this: Why hasn’t blame and acquisition of resorces EVER solved all your problems? Surely if it had, then you would be prefectly self actualized, and just the HAPPIEST mofo on the planet, yes? This is why people with “perfect lives” still commit suicide. We see it every day, famous & inspirational celebrities / artists kill themselves just as much as anyone else. So if material security really DID create happiness and peace...Well, you know the rest.

The second part of this two fold situation is that when you are willing to atleast CONSIDER that maybe - Just maybe - If we can’t find our own happiness in an imperfect situation, then there is logically no reason why it would exist in a perfect situation either.

I’m often met with aggression and offense when I bring this to people to consider. And that’s completely okay, that’s how you know that you’re ALREADY growing, because defensiveness is where the ego goes when its values are challenged. As I always say, the ego isn’t a BAD thing, but it’s like a 5 year old: You wouldn’t let a 5 year old run its own life, because it would only choose the things that aren’t the best for it, because its point of view is finite and limited.

So what’s the truth here? The truth is that in life, the Universe always - ALWAYS - Gives us what we need. If that wasn’t true, you wouldn’t exist to read this. But what we need isn’t always what we want. As egoic beings in a third density 4D dualistic plane of existence, our egos tell us that we want it ALL. When infact what we NEED are the things that will help us grow, evolve and expand. If the Universe dropped a magical solution to all your problems into your lap, it would be like playing a video game with all the cheats on; Sure it would be fun for 5 minutes, but would quickly turn out to be quite boring and even MORE unfufilling. Maybe the struggles you percieve are for the purpose of helping you learn the lessons you haven’t yet realized. Maybe financial stress is here to teach you empathy. Or maybe that illness showed up to teach you the importance of self care - And so on.

So no, watching The Secret and imagining a pile of money and trying to be happy so that you have a high vibe WON’T bring the things you want into your life. Infact, exactly this works against you because it only gives you more to worry about and makes you FOCUS on your perception of lack. Thinking about how much you want that money is actually thinking about how money is something you DON’T have, and now you’ve spent all this time working against yourself.

Okay Rob, get to the point - What’s the solution to this trap?

Surrender. The solution is surrender. And again, if you don’t believe me, ask yourself this: Have you actually TRIED surrender yet?

This means simply accepting that your situation is infact exactly what it NEEDS to be in order to get you to the places YOU need to go in life as your next step. Lessons aren’t learned on paper, they’re learned through realization with truly comes from experience and honest - HONEST - Introspection. In time, and I promise you’ll get here sooner or later - You’ll clearly see and truly understand from a broader point of view that you already and have always had everything you need, and that you’re already whole and complete. This realization allows for great acceptance of a current situation, like it or not - And therefore takes you out of resistance. When you’re not resiting life, it becomes a WHOLE lot easier!

And finally - Please be willing to accept that fault doesn’t actually exist. Nothing is your fault, and nothing is anything else’s fault. You’re exactly where you need to be and the Universe is currently AS YOU READ THIS delivering to you exactly what you need to get to your next stage of growth and experience. So why not sit back and relax a little? And if a bit of surrender infact DOES destroy you, then come back here and let me know so that I can give you a full refund!

[magzoso-tech]

New Post has been published on https://magzoso.com/tech/best-tech-of-2019-our-favourite-purchases-from-zomato-gold-to-realme-earbuds/

Best Tech of 2019: Our Favourite Purchases, From Zomato Gold to Realme Earbuds

Being a consumer is like a job, as a disgraced comedian once rightly said. We spend hours poring over the options at our disposal, looking at the features, going through reviews — a culture we at Gadgets 360 contribute to — and wondering what’s best suited for our needs. Sure, it seems crazy, but it also makes sense. After all, you work hard to earn that money. As you scroll below, you’ll find that some of us didn’t find anything worthwhile to spend said hard-earned money on in 2019. Meanwhile, most others found joy in new phones, tablets, laptops, headphones, subscriptions, or gaming consoles. Thus, in this Best Tech of 2019 article, we detail our favourite purchases from the world of technology this year.

Abhinav Lal: Zomato Gold

I’m going to nominate my Zomato Gold subscription as my tech purchase of the year. You may say, “Hey, that’s not really tech, is it?”, and I’d mostly agree with you. But, hey, it’s a premium offering by a consumer tech platform and seeing that I’ve reaped benefits several times over its cost already, I’m nominating it.

If you’d recall, Zomato earlier this year started Gold on delivery as well, making it rather decent value for money as long as you have participating restaurants in your neighbourhood. I got a 12-month subscription for Rs. 1,800, and since this was during Zomato’s anniversary celebrations, I also got five Rs. 200 cashbacks on delivery orders, bringing its cost down to Rs. 800. I recouped that in two dine outs — and have been using it for delivery as well.

As for my wishlist last year, it included a virtual reality headset, but I’ve been unable to convince myself to take the plunge on a mid-level offering. Maybe this year we will see a reduction in prices as the tech becomes more mainstream.

Buy: Zomato Gold

Aditya Shenoy: Nothing

At the start of the year, I was looking to buy a Sena 30K for my daily + weekend rides. After some thorough research found out that it won’t be able to survive the monsoons here. So dropped plans of picking one up. Surprisingly I haven’t bought a single new tech product this year. I did buy a V6 Communicator since the one I had got drenched in the rains and conked off.

An Android Auto head-unit for my car is still on my wishlist, but I think I’ll look for it next year.

Buy: Nothing

Akhil Arora: Nothing

True to what I’d predicted over 300 days ago, my tech wishlist stayed empty for all of 2019. Of course, I cheated and browsed through sales like any bargain-loving human, but I was never enticed to hit the buy button. That doesn’t mean I didn’t purchase anything. I picked up an iRobot Roomba 600 series at the start of the year and a Mi Air Purifier 3 towards the end of the year. One was a present, and the other a necessity — have you seen the data?

But I wouldn’t say I’d recommend either. If you’re looking for a robot vacuum or an air purifier, I’ve realised it’s best to stay away from entry-level products.

The Roomba is good at cleaning, but it’s very dumb. I live in a 3BHK and given how frequently I’ve to interact with it during cleaning, it really stretches the definition of the word “robot”. As for the Xiaomi one, it seems to do the job, but I don’t trust its AQI readings even though it has a new sensor. So without a separate air quality monitor, there’s no way to tell how good a job it’s doing.

My favourite tech product for 2019 then? 404 Not Found. Sorry for wasting your time, …again.

Buy: Nothing

Akshay Jadhav: Google Home Mini

This year I got a decent deal on the Google Home Mini during the Big Billion Day Sale on Flipkart. It was available for Rs. 2,299. I bought it just for casually listening to music at home. However, now my parents listen to their old playlists the entire day on it and they love the Home Mini’s ease of use with voice commands. Also, the fact that it can work as a Bluetooth Speaker is a cherry on top for me. It has certainly been the best purchase in 2019.

Buy: Google Home Mini

Ali Pardiwala: Amazon Fire TV Stick 4K

I’ve made a couple of big purchases this year, but the one device I’ve found more useful than anything else is the Amazon Fire TV Stick 4K. Considering how many televisions I’ve reviewed this past year, this device is an invaluable tool of my trade. And of course, it’s helped me get access to a wide range of TV shows, movies, and videos across various streaming services up to 4K and HDR.

The Amazon Fire TV Stick 4K is, quite easily, one of the best streaming devices you can buy today. It’s the best Rs. 5,999 I’ve spent this year, and has made my television viewing experience far more entertaining and easy.

Buy: Amazon Fire TV Stick 4K

Aman Rashid: iPhone 11 Pro

I am a die-hard smartphone enthusiast, which is why I like to upgrade to a new smartphone every year. And for many people around me, it is a waste of money to upgrading to a new phone every year, but this has become somewhat of a hobby which I am unable to ignore. So my favourite tech purchase of 2019 is the iPhone 11 Pro.

To recap, I haven’t had great experiences using an iPhone. I have had two iPhones in the past, the iPhone 6 and the iPhone 7 Plus. And with the iPhone 11 Pro, I was a bit skeptical before purchasing it because of my experiences with iPhones and the exorbitant prices the current Apple phones come with. But I was simply swayed away by the looks of the device. Unlike many people out there, I really like the triple-camera design at the back which makes it stand out from every other phone out there. And, the stainless-steel frame which you don’t get to see in flagships from other manufacturers. Moreover, the phone’s performance is top-notch, battery life is great, and the cameras are also a step-up from the last generation.

It has been almost 3 months since I purchased the iPhone 11 Pro, and I have to say I am really enjoying the iOS experience on this device. Looking forward to the iPhone 12 Pro or whatever Apple decides to name it.

Buy: iPhone 11 Pro (256GB)

Gaurav Shukla: LG G7 ThinQ

Even though smartphone prices have continued to go up with each passing year, I am yet to increase the budget that I had set for my smartphone purchases years ago. Hence, with just Rs. 30,000 to spare for my new smartphone, LG G7 ThinQ caught my eye. LG isn’t the most popular smartphone maker around; in fact, you will be hard-pressed to find LG smartphone owners these days. But, in my opinion, the company’s flagships are often some of the best value-for-money phones around if you are fine with waiting for a few months after the phone’s launch in India and don’t want to go for a Chinese smartphone brand.

Bought in the start of this year, the LG G7 is yet to disappoint me. The phone packs some impressive specifications for an older smartphone and is very easily going to last me another year. Having said that I do hate the massive screen but sadly that is a reality of the Android smartphone market right now, and the phone’s cameras aren’t great.

With Mi LED 10W smart bulb as my only other tech purchase, there is little competition for LG G7 ThinQ for my favourite tech purchase this year.

Buy: LG G7 ThinQ

Harpreet Singh: iPhone XR

I didn’t spend a lot of money on tech products this year, I’m going to end 2019 with a lot still left on my wishlist. But I did upgrade my smartphone this year. I switched from an iPhone 7 Plus to the iPhone XR, after spotting a decent deal online.

It seems like a decent upgrade to me. I like the battery life on the iPhone XR, but I miss the physical home button and Touch ID. I like the fact that it has support for an eSIM as a secondary connection even though I don’t really need one. I do love the camera though, nothing Pixel-like but since I only capture photos for Instagram and Snapchat, it gets the job done.

Buy: iPhone XR

Jagmeet Singh: Microsoft Surface Go

I often do some work while commuting. Checking for new emails or responding them while on-the-move is quite feasible through a smartphone. But I usually spend my travel time in writing new feature pieces or transcribing recent interviews that both a compact PC-like machine. I do carry my work laptop, but in the recent past, I observed the need for an even smaller device that I can take with me in most of the places. I found the iPad as an early solution. However, I ended up purchasing a Microsoft Surface Go.

Since the Surface Go provides me with the full Windows experience, I can not just open apps that are limited to iOS (read iPadOS) but also access all major software packages that I used to have on my desktop or work laptop. The portable design of the Surface Go also makes it an easy-to-carry machine and the optional keyboard adds productivity. Likewise, the touchscreen experience on the device is also on par with my iPhone. The only thing that lacks here is the battery life that gets exhausted in five-six hours of regular use. Nevertheless, there is a USB Type-C port that supports the Power Delivery (PD). So I use a compatible power bank for charging on-the-go.

Buy: Microsoft Surface Go

Jamshed Avari: iPad Pro

After promising myself that I wouldn’t buy anything unnecessary this year, I stumbled across a ridiculously good deal on a second-hand previous-gen iPad Pro that I simply couldn’t pass up. Did I actually need it? Not at all. Was it a good impulse buy? Absolutely! My previous iPad no longer receives iOS updates, I get to play high-end games, and the huge screen is just glorious. You can have a full-sized A4 page up, which is great for reading and especially for sheet music. Creative apps such as Synth One really feel transformed on the bigger screen and the stereo speakers are a revelation too. Moreover, it’s so light that I can just take it anywhere. Now to find an equally good deal on a keyboard cover…

Buy: 12.9-in iPad Pro (2nd Gen)

Nadeem Sarwar: Samsung Wireless Powerbank

2019 was the year I shelled out the most when it comes to purchasing tech goodies. I got myself the Acer KG241QP gaming monitor that offers 144Hz refresh rate and 1ms response time at a sweet discount on Amazon. I also burnt my earnings on a Redgear MK881 Invador mechanical keyboard with the Kailh Blue switches, and of course, RGB lighting effects. But my favourite tech purchase of the year was the Samsung Wireless Powerbank (EB-U1200CPNGIN).

This one’s not your average, blocky power bank. Aside from a USB Type-A port and a USB Type-C port, it also has a circular Qi-certified wireless charging pad that supports the in-house Wireless Fast Charge tech. It lets me simultaneously charge a phone and a wearable device (or another wireless charging compatible phone, which happens to be the Pixel 3 in my case). The 10,000mAh battery is enough to juice up the phone’s battery thrice, and the build quality is also top notch. It comes at a premium over rival 10,000Ah power banks, but the versatility it offers is unmatched.

Buy: Samsung Wireless Powerbank 10000mAh

Prabhakar Thakur: Amazon Fire TV Stick

Amazon Fire TV Stick was my favourite purchase this year, though I did not really “buy” it. It came with a Samsung TV that I bought (not a smart TV). It has changed my TV viewing experience for good. With Fire TV Stick’s clean UI and decent voice remote, I don’t have many complaints about the device.

This one doesn’t support 4K videos, but I have no qualms about it because of the expense of the amount of data that will be needed should I raise the video quality that much.

Buy: Amazon Fire TV Stick

Roydon Cerejo: iPhone XR, Fire TV Stick, and PS4 Pro

I may have gone a little crazy this year with my tech purchases. My first one was an iPhone XR back in April, when the big discounts and cashback offers began. An excellent device with more than a day-long battery life which even rivalled the iPhone XS. Plus, the fact that it was available in India at an effective price which was even lower than what it was being sold for in the US, made it a no-brainer.

My second-best tech purchase has been the Amazon Fire TV Stick 4K. The reason it makes the list is because I managed to snag one during this year’s Black Friday sale, for just $25! (roughly Rs. 1,800). It’s also a lot faster than the standard version, supports faster Wi-Fi and of course, can do 4K streaming.

My last big tech purchase of this year is the Sony PlayStation 4 Pro. Yes, I’m aware that the PlayStation 5 (PS5) will be launching around this time, next year, but like every new console generation, the true potential of it will most probably only be realised till a few years in the console’s lifecycle. By then, we’ll also have newer revisions which may fix any teething issues of the launch models, possibly a Pro model and most importantly, more affordable prices out by then.

Pro tip: If you’re looking to get the PS4 Pro, keep in mind that the only official bundle with India warranty is the one with the extra controller. All other bundles on Amazon and Flipkart of the Pro that include free games, are direct imports and don’t have a valid Indian warranty.

Buy: iPhone XR, Amazon Fire TV Stick 4K, or PS4 Pro

Sumit Garg: Nothing

I have spent a lot of money this year. My biggest purchase has to be a new car, but did I make a tech purchase for myself? Well, no. Yes, I did buy two Redmi 8A smartphones, but those were gifts for my family members. Other than that, personally I did not find anything that amazed me in tech this year and because of that I didn’t make any tech purchase this year.

Buy: Nothing

Tasneem Akolawala: Amazon Echo

I didn’t make any big tech purchases this year, nothing that makes for a worthy mention. Although, I did make a tiny Amazon Echo purchase in January for the house. It’s proved to be quite handy, especially to satiate the growing curiosity of my kid. For those unaware, the Echo range of smart speakers from Amazon comes with Alexa voice assistant built in. It lets you ask questions, request songs, ask for recipes, and set reminders – and responds with voice-based answers. I’d recommend it as a nice addition to your home entertainment space. I bought the second-generation Echo, but it would be ideal to buy the third-generation speakers now. Amazon offers a slew of Echo speakers in different forms and functionalities.

Buy: Amazon Echo

Yousuf Jawed: Realme Earbuds 2

After using OnePlus wireless bullets for an year then getting back to old tech like wired headphones is tough but I did make a choice now and it is Realme Buds 2. These Realme earphones are good in terms of sound quality within the price bracket. The braided cable make you believe it is stronger and practically doesn’t get tangled. The length of the wire is very generous, and it comes with a rubber clip. I also appreciate the drivers and the chambers they are housed in, redesigned to give better sound quality. The magnetics snapping feature of the buds are very handy. So, yeah, this was my tech purchase on the year.

Buy: realme Earbuds 2 in-Ear Wired with mic

Affiliate links may be automatically generated – see our ethics statement for details.

[jameshateseverything-blog]

Your Childhood (Actually) Sucks

I’m always worried when I say this; but Final Fantasy 7 is the most overrated game of all time. That, however, isn’t the point. How good it is is less important than how good people remember it being. Because the way people remember things is more important than the way things actually are.

  I spend a great deal of time thinking about being thirteen. Probably more than I should, to the point it borders on an addiction. My best friend and his newfound girlfriend decided Mariah Carey’s “We Belong Together” would be “their song.” I had placed second at the district chess tournament being held at my school. And I had been playing Final Fantasy 10 for the first time. It was not the first game in the series I had played, that goes to 7. What it was, however, was the first game in the series I have ever experienced.

  When I initially set out to write this essay I wanted to merely make an argument as to why Final Fantasy 7 isn’t good (or at least not as good as everyone seems to tell me it is). I had planned out several points as to why other entries in the series trumped it. Namely in the storytelling and gameplay departments. I decided to give 7 another playthrough, however. After spending some time with the game, which I concede holds up better than most Playstation 1 titles, I have come to realize something; maybe Final Fantasy 7 is not just the most overrated game of all time. Maybe, just maybe, the entire series is one of the most overrated gaming franchises ever. For those of you (which I assume is most) that have never played 7, 10, or any Final Fantasy, I am going to do my best to cover the story of those two specific games. I chose 7 and 10 because (a) the original argument was based on 7 and (b) though I wouldn’t say 10 is the best, I would say it is my personal favorite.

  Our story opens up with edgy ex-corporate mercenary Cloud Strife working alongside terrorist movement AVALANCHE to take down a Mako reactor. Mako being the life force of the planet and what is used to run all machinery. It is essentially crude oil that has the latent ability to grant certain people magical powers, like shooting fireballs or summoning ancient gods. But Shinra faces the problem that Mako energy is beginning to run low and their only hope is to find an ancient promised land. A promised land that is rumored to have Mako flowing endlessly beneath it. The dilemma, only an extinct race of people, the Cetra, know how to find this fossil fuel Mecca.

 As the game progresses you assemble a team of unlikely heroes including emo boy Cloud. A revenge-fuelled Barrett who has a gun for a hand and a deep-seated hatred for Shinra’s use of technology. The last remaining Cetra, Aeirith. There’s also a pseudo-vampire, a talking lion wolf, and a marshmallow plush controlled by a cat. Shinra has their eyes set on Aerith, they manage to capture her, and so begins the quest for renewable energy. Cloud and crew go to rescue her and this is when the true villain is introduced. Pretty boy and fan favorite Sephiroth is a one-winged semi-clone of a deity that fell from the sky as a meteor thousands of years prior. Sephiroth is one blatant metaphor for a Christian guilt complex. Sephiroth (who is also the god Jenova) wants to summon another meteor to destroy the planet so he can absorb all the Mako and become one with it. When Cloud and friends try to stop him, he manages to mind control Cloud. Then Convinces Cloud that he’s a clone of Sephiroth with the memories of some guy named Zack planted in him. Cloud has a mental breakdown, becomes catatonic, falls into the planet’s lifestream with his childhood friend, and sorts out his existential crisis like some bad acid trip. After he spends 10 minutes getting his shit together, the gang flies into the crater where Jenova initially crash landed Lord Xenu style. They do battle with Sephiroth, who is also Jenova, who is also the ancient entity known as Meteor. They kill him with the help of a deceased Aerith, and the world returns to its beautiful dystopian self. Minus the evil conglomerate monopoly of Mako Shinra once had. Convoluted enough for you? I didn’t even touch on the movie, four spin-off games (two on cell phone), or the racing of giant chickens to learn to summon King Arthur’s henchmen.

 Let us compare 7’s convoluted mess of a story to 10’s. Final Fantasy 10 follows Tidus, a young man with an Oedipus complex. One night, during a game of underwater space soccer [read: Blitzball], Tidus is interrupted by a colossal parasitic winged slug destroying the city of Zannarkand. Tidus and a friend of his father try to fight the creature but are ultimately defeated and Tidus wakes up in a completely different world. In this new world, a few things overlap. Space Soccer is larger than the super bowl, the city Zannarkand still exists though it is in ruins, and the giant slug unironically named Sin. Sin is the driving force for the game’s narrative. The creature is an evil that reincarnates itself and is allegedly a manifestation of what happens when man uses technology rather than prayer. So I guess Sin is just another Christian guilt complex villain.

 Throughout the story Tidus befriends an unlikely group of heroes including a subpar Blitzball player who has a deep-seated hatred (bordering on racist) for the machine using Al-Bhed. There is a summoner on a pilgrimage to sacrifice herself to stop Sin for another couple dozen years. A biped lion wolf, and a few other JRPG tropes.

 As the story progress you find out that Tidus’ father helped on the previous summoner’s pilgrimage and became Sin. Tidus finds out he isn’t real, and that if they defeat Sin he will fade into a literal dream. Tidus spends 10 minutes sorting out this existential crisis. There is some whistling. The party goes inside of Sin. Father, son, and not-so-holy ghost all die. The world falls back into its primitive state now liberated and free to use their technology as they please.

 The games are pretty damn similar when reduced to the lowest common denominator. I have time and time again praised 10 while putting down 7. And if you have played both of them you would be quick to see how they are inherently different. But this is how I remember those games. And how I imagine many others remember them to some degree, minus a few scenes left out for brevity.

 I was 13 and sitting in the back of my step-father’s Lincoln Navigator. There was a PS2 set up to the small screen and I was playing Final Fantasy 10; nearing the end. My step-dad just bought a “new car” scented car freshener. To this day I associate that smell with my favorite game of all time. This phenomenon, my addiction, to me is one of the most fascinating tricks the mind plays on us. Nostalgia, coming from the greek words nostos and algos translating to “homecoming pain.” There was a time it was used by the Swiss military where they thought the only treatment for the condition was to send the mercenaries home. Now we see there is something universal about “the better days.”

 After discussing the concept of nostalgia with a handful of people I have noticed people tend to fall into two different camps. Some, myself included, look at nostalgia with joyous sorrow. As though there are memories, emotions, and sensations that can never be duplicated. Think back to a favorite Christmas or birthday present, remember how you felt? Even though I believe that feeling itself can be replicated, the way you remember that feeling is encapsulated in that moment and forever gone. In this first camp, there is a fear that if we don’t cling to those memories we may lose a piece of our identity with them. The second camp tends to view nostalgia pejoratively. Longing being some type of weakness. Even if there were  “good ol’ days” you can’t ever get them back so why waste time trying? Now whether either of these mentalities is objectively more correct than the other, impossible to say. I’m more just fascinated that everybody feels homecoming pain. I did notice, however, that people more invested into games (video or sport) tend to sit in the former camp with myself. I think that is where Final Fantasy, especially 7, begins to fall apart. Am I using Nostalgia to say that Final Fantasy 7 is bad, even subjectively? No, not really. Instead I’m calling into question why it is important. Not important for gaming, but important to the gamers who believe it is the high bar for the series, or even games in general.

 A few hundred words ago I drew attention to the similarities between 10 and 7. And I would like to narrow that down to just the two protagonists; Cloud and Tidus. At face value these characters are different. Tidus is a young, naive, hot-headed sports star trying to live up to a father he resents. Cloud is a battle-hardened soldier whose idol turned out to be a monster. We are supposed to identify as these two. Our perspective is limited to theirs. Both are detached from a larger picture that they inevitably find themselves the center of. So even if Cloud and Tidus are different from one another, their general arcs manage to remain the same. This is why people (myself included) find these games to be important in their lives. Both of their lives are lies. One is a fleeting dream of the gods and the other a blonde husk with a brunette’s memories. Neither character has any reason to exist.

 Usually, if you listen, when people talk about their favorite music, movies, games it often is something from their childhood. You favorite Final Fantasy is most likely the first one you played. If it isn’t, your favorite was probably played around the ages of 13-16.  Even if you have never played these games I want you to take a moment to just stop. Take a nice long hit of that homecoming pain. Go back, try to remember being 9, or 13, or 16. Try to remember who you were as a person. Sorry if you were awkward, but that awkwardness is kind of the point. These transitional points in our lives, they are moments when we are developing responsibilities and learning who we are. Whether it is your first day home without the babysitter, or a first day of high school, those periods are when we can exist outside of our parents and act as yourself. I remember once breaking down in front of my parents proclaiming I did not know who I was. I didn’t belong. I had no reason to exist. I was the same as Cloud or Tidus.

 I suppose when I hate on Cloud as a character, or when others shun Tidus, what we are really doing is collectively hating how annoying and whiny younger versions of ourselves were. But it wasn’t always that way. Sure, we didn’t have to come to terms with being a clone. But maybe, like Tidus, we discover some aspect of our life is a lie. Santa isn’t real. We can’t all be astronauts. These tiresome characters are just us as tiresome teenagers. And it is hard not to look back and cling to that notion, a moment where we didn’t have to feel so alone. At that age it is nice to be understood.

 So do I hate Final Fantasy 7? No, of course not, I’m mostly enjoying my third playthrough. But the story doesn’t speak to me like it did when I was a kid. I’m not sure it is supposed to either. This idea that no Final Fantasy will ever capture the same magic as the old ones is toxic. It is only going to hurt the growth of the series in the future. Nothing revolutionary can come of trying to capture the old while moving on to the new. 7, 10, 13, these games aren’t terrible by any means. But they are the Donald Trump of gaming. Maybe we can’t make Final Fantasy great again. Maybe it never was that great.

[thevaliantascendant]

“let the sunshine fall on me (only me),” Servamp

Summary: Those who bask in the warmth of the sun often become greedy for it: unwilling to let go, unwilling to share it with anyone else.

(Alternatively, everyone is yandere for Mahiru.)

Pairing: Sakuya/Mahiru, Kuro/Mahiru, Licht/Mahiru, Tsubaki/Mahiru, Tsurugi/Mahiru, Tetsu/Mahiru

Warnings: Yandere and all dark things that come with it. See AO3 link for a complete list of tags.

AO3

Selfish Boy – Sakuya

Sakuya doesn’t like to share the things important to him. He doesn’t trust the world, full of liars that it is, to not take away those things.

Mahiru, too, has become such a thing.

He has become too important for Sakuya to ever let go so Sakuya must hold Mahiru tight and close to his heart. Close to where Sakuya always is so Mahiru can never be taken away.

“Sakkun?” Mahiru calls out, groggy under the drug Sakuya had so easily injected into him.

“Shh,” Sakuya whispers, voice soft with care and eyes warm with adoration even as he bundles Mahiru away. “It’s okay Mahiru. It’ll be okay. I’ll take care of you, I promise. We’ll be together forever.”

Sakuya is a selfish child.

(Those that fall into his greedy hands will never be let go.)

No Better Place – Kuro

“What’s your favorite place?”

“Hah?”

“Sorry,” Mahiru waves a hand. “That was a dumb question for you. After all, your favorite place would be somewhere dark where you can be a NEET vampire and play your video games.”

Kuro grunts and goes back to his game.

“Am I wrong?”

“Yes,” Kuro, surprisingly, answers. “I do have a favorite place. A good-natured vampire like myself still has high standards.”

Mahiru raises an eyebrow. “Oh really? And what place would that be?”

“Secret.”

Mahiru huffs. “Fine, fine. Be that way.”

~~~~~~~~

Mahiru is fast asleep that night when Kuro finally answers his question.

Curled up next to Mahiru’s head, the kitten Kuro purrs as he presses his nose into Mahiru’s hair. He inhales the scent, warm and earthly and simple, all embodiments of Mahiru.

“My favorite place,” Kuro whispers to Mahiru. “Is one where you are always by my side. Where it is only the two of us in the world and you are only mine. There is no better place than that.”

In the darkness, the shadows formed by the moonlight grow ever longer as Kuro changes form. In the night, Kuro’s shape is more indistinct—the edges of his body jagged like claws and utterly swallowing Mahiru.

“One day, I will take you to such a place.”

(It is a promise.)

And You Will Fly – Licht

Licht values hard work more than anything else.

It is hard work that led him to become the famous pianist he is now. To him, there is nothing more valuable than hard work.

To him, there is no one more valuable than someone who has worked hard his whole life. For the sake of others, for the sake of himself.

To Licht, there is no one more worthy of becoming an angel than Shirota Mahiru.

Mahiru is worthy of wings like Licht’s. He is the only one worthy enough to stand by Licht’s side as a fellow angel.

But Mahiru does not yet have his wings, does not yet know he can fly.

“Licht?” Mahiru’s voice comes out slurred and slow, eyes drooping as he struggles to stay awake. “What are you…?”

“It’s alright Mahiru.” Licht’s hand comes up to rest on Mahiru’s upper back, keeping him steady as he sits in the circle of Licht’s long long legs. His fingers splay across Mahiru’s right shoulder blade, silently counting the span of them in centimeters. “Just sleep for now.”

Mahiru immediately obeys, slumping against Licht’s shoulder. His breathe tickles the side of Licht’s neck, sending tingles down his spine.

Licht slips a hand beneath Mahiru’s shirt to better feel the skin about Mahiru’s back, counting the knobs of his spine with his fingers. Mahiru doesn’t stir and Licht wonders if he should feel guilty for slipping such a strong drug in Mahiru’s drink.

He decides he doesn’t because when Mahiru wakes up again, he will be thankful. He will be grateful to Licht in helping him become the angel he was always meant to be.

(So Licht will give him wings—whether Mahiru wants them or not.)

A World Free of Melancholy – Tsubaki

Mahiru has begun to hear a voice in his dreams.

It sings to him, a slow and haunting melody with words that make Mahiru’s heart shake with indescribable emotions but can never remember when he wakes up in the morning.

The voice follows him even in the day. In the quiet hours when he eats his meals alone in the apartment, in the silence where he is left alone with his thoughts. With the voice, Mahiru is never truly alone anymore.

And every night, the voice sings for longer. The song grows more beautiful, more haunting and every day it grows louder in Mahiru’s head.

He hears it now even above the chatter of his classmates at school, the noise of the busy city when he goes to the store for groceries.

It never stops. It is always there.

One night, Mahiru wakes from his dream with tears down his face and a stranger standing by the foot of his bed.

He wears a kimono of night with the red of flames licking the edges of the shadows. Camellias lie scattered by his feet, their fallen petals glowing almost painfully bright in Mahiru’s curtained room.

The man grins, sharp like the edges of broken glass but soft with kindness, with acceptance.

There is hunger in the man’s eyes.

He hungers for one who will acknowledge him, who will stay by his side and let him rest his head in the circle of their arms. He will create wars, he will destroy the world, if it means obtaining that.

“I’ve come for you,” he croons and the voice in Mahiru’s head echoes, resonates with the man’s until it is all Mahiru can hear, can think of.

This man before him was the voice who sings in his dreams and Mahiru suddenly remembers, with utter clarity, the words of the man’s songs.

The man made of shadows with flames and freshly blooming camellias reaches out his hand. “Come with me, Mahiru. We’ll be together forever.”

(“I will never leave you," the voice sings in his ear. “My darling Mahiru, we’ll burn the world down together.”)

Toy Soldier – Tetsu

Tetsu has always likened himself to a soldier.

He is strong and sturdy, steadfast in his ways. He will protect what is important to him: the family onsen, the peace of his every day life and, above all, his sunshine.

There can be no warmth without the sun, no life without the life so Tetsu must protect it.

He must protect his sun from all else.

“Big brother Mahiru, are you alright?”

Tetsu stretches out his hand and Mahiru shakily takes it, using the support to get back up on his feet.

“F-fine, I think.” Mahiru manages a small smile. “Thanks for coming to help me Tetsu. You’re a lifesaver.”

Tetsu shrugs. “It’s nothing. I’m glad you’re alright, though. It would have been bad if you got injured on your first day of vacation.”

Mahiru laughs, the trembling in his body slowly trickling out of him. “Yeah, that’s true. We wouldn’t have been able to go to the beach together if I did.”

A thought suddenly occurs to Mahiru and he looks up at Tetsu, frowning. “How did you know I was here Tetsu? This place isn’t anywhere near where you live.”

“Advertising,” is Tetu’s simple answer. “Thought I could expand our customer base for the onsen if I went outside the neighborhood.”

Mahiru can’t help but laugh again and with that, the final remnants of fear lingering on his skin finally leave. “Of course. I shouldn’t even be surprised.”

So relieved to be safe, Mahiru never questions how Tetsu was advertising when he had no flyers, no label on his clothes to indicate the name of his family onsen—nothing.

And Tetsu will never tell.

(Tetsu is a toy soldier. He will follow Mahiru until the very end.)

For Want of Nothing – Tsurugi

Tsurugi has never been selfish.

Not in the ways that mattered, not in any way that would have made a difference. He hadn’t understood what it meant to be selfish until he realized what selfishness could give him.

It gave him shared meals at a kitchen table, a house flooded with sunlight, voices that spoke to fill in the once echoing silence and more warmth than he knew ever existed.

Selfishness gave Tsurugi the one thing he had ever wanted in his whole life.

Selfishness gave him Shirota Mahiru.

And Tsurugi wants it. He wants Mahiru and everything—the meals, the warmthnomorelonelinessIdon’twanttobEALONEANYMORE—that comes with him.

He has never wanted anything else so desperately, so fiercely.

And Mahiru, who is kind and likes the simple things and understands loneliness as intimately as Tsurugi does, accepts all of Tsurugi’s selfishness.

And Tsurugi takes. He takes and takes because Mahiru gives and he will continue to take until Mahiru is his.

“Tsurugi-san, have you seen my phone?”

“Hm?” Tsurugi leans back against the wall, hands hidden behind his back. “Why do you ask Mahiru-kun?”

“Sakuya said he was going to text me the time of the movie,” Mahiru answers. His back is turned so he doesn’t see Tsurugi pull out a familiar cell phone, a black cat plush keychain attached to it.

“Mahiru-kun, here it is.”

“What?” Mahiru turns and jogs over to Tsurugi, taking the phone from his hand. “Where did you find it Tsurugi-san?”

“On the kitchen table where you left it.” Tsurugi grins, teasing. “You’re becoming rather forgetful aren’t you, Mahiru-kun?”

“I was sure I checked there already,” Mahiru mutters, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Strange, Sakuya still hasn’t texted me…”

“Perhaps something came up,” Tsurugi suggests. He shrugs, unconcerned and nonchalant as he leans forward into Mahiru’s space. “Why don’t I go with you instead?”

“Wha—Tsurugi-san?!” Mahiru yelps, leaning back as he realizes how close they’ve become.

Tsurugi continues to smile, unassuming and unguarded. “You’ve been looking forward to the movie, haven’t you? If Watanuki-kun can’t make it, I’ll go with you instead.”

“Well if you’re not busy…” He frowns. “Still, it’s not like Sakuya to not get back to me. I wonder if something really did happen.”

“Who knows~” Tsurugi sings, leaning ever closer towards Mahiru so his lips all but touch the top of Mahiru’s head.

(He wants.)

[gamesmakers]

That Time We Took Over the World

For @mores2sl.

Kensington, England

April 13, 2015

Local Time: 8:42 AM

“Everdeen.” He rose his glass to her before taking a long swig of what had better be water. “And here I thought you didn’t like me anymore.”

“You know, I just spent eleven hours flying here from Los Angeles. I even paid fourteen bucks extra for internet so Effie could get ahold of me if your condition changed. The least you could do is act like you had a heart attack this morning.”

“Yesterday morning, but I’m all right. They’ll get me some stints, and I’ll be better than ever.” Now that she got a good look at Haymitch, she saw what Effie had been so worried about when they talked this, fine, yesterday morning. The IV bag was all too obvious, but all the quips and one-liners in the world couldn’t hide the fifteen years he seemed to have put on since she’d seen him last Christmas. With the extra gray in the beard he never shaved but had never quite filled in and the deep bags under his eyes, he looked far older than fifty-nine. Those decades of hard living had finally caught up with him. “Y’know, I was thinking earlier.”

“You don’t say.” She didn’t care if he had been dead for almost two minutes yesterday. Haymitch walking into his own favorite insult was too good of an opportunity to pass by.

He glared at her. “As I was saying, I was thinking about your career after these goons were still trying to figure out if they’d saved me or not.” If he thought the legion of medical professionals who restarted his heart were goons, he had to be feeling better.

“And what did you decide?” she prompted.

“Now, hear me out. This might not seem like the most natural pairing, but the more I think about it, the more I think it could really work out well. People really dig that fusion shit, you know?”

“Haymitch!”

He took another drink of his water, then set it aside. “So, kid, tell me. What do you know about Peeta Mellark?”

Chelsea, England

April 13, 2015

Local Time: 11:27 PM

In the late nineties, nobody could escape the Tributes - not that anybody besides a few jealous teenage boys and tired parents really wanted to. The more enthusiastic members of the media heralded the five boys as a return to the Golden Age. They sang. They danced. They even made a film that, surprisingly enough, wasn’t terrible. “Like five Frank Sinatras,” one Rolling Stone critic wrote about them, “but more good-looking.” For teenagers who had been holding down part-time jobs at McDonald’s and Burger King not a year prior, it was high praise indeed. But the longer one watched them, the more justified the comparison seemed. With fourteen chart-topping singles and practically constant sellout world tours, they were on the road to the kind of superstardom that actually manages to worm its way into the history books.

But tastes changed, interest waned, and almost as suddenly as they had shot to fame, the Tributes’ career fizzled out. The former teen idols were suddenly the butt of jokes everywhere from late night talk shows to schoolyards. There was an attempt at a comeback, then another, but the only mercy came when the group officially announced their breakup. With that last blast of publicity, the group somehow managed to fade from the public consciousness completely.

Only one member managed to emerge from the rubble unscathed. Finnick Odair had in some ways always been the star of the group. The man was the closest thing the world had to a living, breathing Adonis. Nobody could really blame the army of managers, executives, and publicity workers that fueled any operation as big as the Tributes for wanting to place him in the center of every photograph or giving him the most solos. Issues of consent and sexualization of a sixteen-year-old hadn’t been the world’s main priority as they collectively drooled over the most recent pictures of him. At least publicly, Finnick seemed to have been able to brush that off with no big impact. Even fifteen years later, his new releases were almost guaranteed to land in the top ten, and he snagged the starring roles in some of Hollywood’s biggest movies.

Katniss had never been his biggest fan, but like every other heterosexual female she knew, she followed him on Instagram. Something about the muscular star holding his new baby and grinning really did it for her. She’d blame it on evolution.

Tonight, Finnick Odair wasn’t her main focus. She scrolled down the Wikipedia article to find the section on Peeta Mellark. Okay, she vaguely remembered him from the poster Prim had hung in their shared bedroom when she was in middle school. The article said he had released his first and only solo album seven years ago and continued to tour, though a quick scan of the upcoming dates and venues showed that he was mostly going to small casinos and clubs. Katniss kind of wanted to judge him for that, but then again, Haymitch wouldn’t go around trying to pair her up with a successful artist. Sure, she played guitar – really well, actually, well enough to make a very comfortable living off of session work – but you couldn’t start a conversation with random strangers on the street about Katniss Everdeen’s style.

She clicked out of that article and returned to the YouTube mix entitled ‘Tributes and Peeta Mellark Ultimate Fanmix :-)’. As a thirty-two-year-old woman and devoted artist, did she feel ridiculous sitting here, listening to ‘90s pop? Absolutely. Did she find herself humming along? Well, the Tributes had gotten popular for a reason.

San Bernadino, California

May 4, 2015

Local Time: 9:56 PM

Peeta Mellark took his job very seriously. One would have to if they were going to go onstage at the San Manuel Indian Bingo & Casino in an outfit straight from a music video that came out twenty years ago. The black pants and tight-fitting, primary colored t-shirts had looked a little too Star Trek in 1997, and the look hadn’t aged well. She applauded professionalism and devotion to one’s craft as much as the next person, but there came a point where one should walk away with their head held high and try something outside of entertainment. Katniss estimated Peeta had reached that point about ten years ago. The cheese value of this routine was through the roof. He did more flirting with the audience than actual singing, and every joke had the muddy flavor of having been used night after night for years. In a few spots, no matter how hard she tried to be polite, she had to roll her eyes. Good thing Peeta had managed to comp her a ticket for this show, or she’d be out more than the mileage to drag herself out to San Bernadino.

“For my next song, I’d like to mix it up a little and take suggestions from the audience. Anything’s fair game, mine or not.”

The crowd ate it up the same way they’d gobbled up the jokes earlier. Could they not see that he had a plant? At best, he might take a suggestion from an actual audience member and accept it if it happened to be in the lineup of songs he and his backing group had rehearsed, but otherwise, he’d move on to the predetermined ‘guest’ who’d lob him an easy one. Oldest trick in the book.

“Um, how about you, ma’am? Dark hair, braid, right in front of the stage, very pretty. What would you like to hear?”

It took Katniss a second to realize that he was referring to her. Her mind scrambled through an inventory of thousands of songs, but one kept coming up again and again. “’Til There Was You’.” Not exactly her usual style, and it came as a missed opportunity to see what he could do with something more folky, but oh well. She could grill him on folk’s greats later. It wasn’t like he would actually play her song anyway.

“Gotta love musicals. Who here likes The Music Man?” The crowd cheered as Peeta moved to the piano. Wait, was he actually going to follow through with this? She had to give him some respect for that. His accompaniment wasn’t what she would expect out of a professional pianist, but it got the job done. “I’ve got this on the CD I play when I’m driving to work. It’s one of my favorites.”

The voice she heard then barely sounded like the one she’d heard earlier. That had been as stale as his jokes, but now, he sent emotion rippling through the room. For a moment, Meredith Willson’s metaphorical bells were very, very real, and she did hear them ringing, and maybe, just maybe, Haymitch had been on to something.

San Bernadino, California

May 4, 2015

Local Time: 11:05 PM

After the show, several women her age and older loitered around the stage. Peeta chatted with them one at a time, all winks and smiles that promised something naughty. Now, she had hung around with enough big stars to know that chatting up women after the show was to be expected, but did he not remember that they had a meeting scheduled? According to the schedule Effie had found for her, he had three more shows at this very venue in the next week. There would be plenty of other chances to get laid, but he had royally screwed up his first meeting with a potential business partner. Good to know he had his priorities straight.

Only after he had gathered a few telephone numbers did he deign to join her. “Katniss?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes.” He smiled, and she rose to shake his hand. “After that show, you don’t need any introduction.”

“Nice to finally meet you in person.” Maybe he was just a good actor, but the words sounded genuine. Then again, he had sounded pretty genuine a few minutes ago when he was prepping new notches for his bedpost, so maybe she shouldn’t put too much weight on that. “Sorry to put you on the spot back there. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“You did really well with it.”

“Thanks. I really do have it on CD in my car, but I’d never performed it live before tonight. Especially coming from you, it’s great to hear I did all right with it.” He sat down at the table for two that had been hers alone for the show. “I’ve been reading a lot about you since we talked on the phone. I didn’t realize how many of my favorite albums you’ve been on.” God damn it, she couldn’t let him charm her the way he had those other women, but goodness did it feel nice to hear her work praised. “I mean, you’ve worked with everyone around. The Stones, Madonna, I think I saw McCartney on there too. I know you want to do something more on the folk side, but your catalog is pop and rock and roll royalty.”

“Thanks.” She was going to start blushing if he didn’t tone it down a little. He leaned in just a little, and Katniss met those gorgeous blue eyes, and well, it was too late on that whole not blushing thing. “Really, thanks.”

“Sorry, I just don’t think you studio musicians get enough credit. You’re the ones who make the rest of us look good, and we don’t bother to say thanks often enough.”

Definitely buttering her up, then. Good. That meant he wanted to go through with Haymitch’s scheme, erm, idea. She smiled at him. “Flattering as this is, if we don’t stop trading compliments, I think we’ll be sitting here for hours and I’d really like to go home at some point.” Two could play that game. “I’d like to hear your thoughts on Haymitch’s proposal.”

“Wouldn’t want that to happen,” he laughed. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and…” his voice trailed off and he shook his head ever so slightly. “I’m not sure it’s what’s best for my career.” Wait, what? How was it that Peeta Mellark, corny C-grade casino performer, was the one putting a stop to this? She had an actual career. At any moment, there were five or ten requests for her to come in and play, and with the big names too, and he thought this wasn’t right for him? Her knuckles went white as she fisted her hands into the tablecloth. He must have noticed, because he immediately backpedaled. “That sounded bad. What I mean is, well, this might not seem like a lot to you, but I kind of like it. I get to travel all the time. I constantly get to meet new people. It’s not a very glamorous part of showbiz, but it keeps food on the table and lets me sing instead of working at the bakery back home.

“That being said, I’ve been doing this at varying levels nonstop for twenty years, and I’m ready to try something new.”

“So you want to go for it.”

“I’d at least like to test some things out, yeah.”

“That’s about at the point where I am too,” she admitted.

He had a great smile. It wasn’t fair, really, that he got the eyes, the smile, and the voice all rolled up in one package. How was the female portion of the population supposed to resist? Katniss stopped herself before she could take that line of thought too far. If things worked out, they would be business partners, and even if people didn’t always respect professional boundaries in this industry, she was better than that. “Then I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“Casablanca and The Music Man in one night?”

“Hey, if someone’s said it better already, why not let them say it for you?”

“I hope that’s not the approach you take to songwriting,” she deadpanned.

Peeta winked. “As you wish.”

“Princess Bride, and you’d better.”

Los Angeles, California

June 25, 2015

Local Time: 3:09 PM

“I’m so sorry, that session was only supposed to last the morning. He promised we’d be out by noon.” She really ought to spend some more quality time with that stupid treadmill she’d shelled out six hundred bucks for the Christmas before last. Katniss had only run from the corner to the front door of Haymitch’s office, but even after a few seconds spent panting and wondering if she was about to collapse dead, she still sounded like she was trying for a personal best marathon time.

On second thought, maybe dying wouldn’t have been so bad. Three sets of eyes were on her, the expressions on them a rainbow that went from concerned to amused to annoyed. Yes, an hour and forty minutes late was bad, but she had called as soon as she knew the session was going to run long.

Peeta broke the silence first. “Hey, Katniss. How are you?”

She smiled at him as she took the remaining seat. “I’m pretty good. Howa bout you, Peeta? Effie?” She didn’t need some smartass answer from Haymitch right now, so she left him out.

Not that that strategy ever worked. “So, who chased you up here?”

He got a well-deserved glare for that one. “I just couldn’t wait to get back in your presence. It’s such a magical place to be.”

Effie giggled at that, light and tinkling, but then it was all business. “We’ve been filling Peeta in on the basic business plan we have for you. Katniss, you’ve said that you have quite the catalog of songs built up, so we figured it would be best to use one of them for first single.” She turned to Peeta. “You’ll love them. She won’t brag about them, modest thing she is, but Haymitch has played a few of her demos for me, and they’re just lovely.” If Peeta wasn’t here, she would have hit him. She’d never given Haymitch permission to show any of those recordings to anybody. “If we can’t find anything we like in there, we can always find something to cover, but well, neither of you is getting any younger, and it’s better to get something out as soon as possible.” Katniss did her best not to flinch at that. She knew age was more of an issue for her than Peeta. Female stardom seemed to have an expiration date of around thirty-five, and she was getting closer every day. “Ideally, we’ll have you in the studio next week, have a single out on iTunes in six weeks tops. Then we’ll get you out on tour and hope for the best.”

“Do you ever hope for anything else?” Haymitch asked. “Ouch!” Oh good, if Effie hadn’t kicked him for that, Katniss would’ve had to, and after that admittedly short run, she didn’t feel like moving at all.

Effie smiled at them. “Any questions?”

She and Peeta exchanged glances and shrugs. “I think we’re good.”

“Excellent. Then let’s get started on the paperwork.”

To both of their credit, neither groaned audibly, but Katniss was pretty sure it was a shared sentiment.

Los Angeles, California

June 29, 2015

Local Time: 9:40 AM

Buttercup had only stayed with her for a week while Prim was out of town, and that had been a month ago, but she still found orange cat hair all over her furniture. On days like today, when she wore black, she might as well just add a pair of Tigger ears to complete the costume. Peeta’s black pants were going to be a mess when he got up too. Fingers crossed, he wouldn’t notice.

It would be a lot harder to ignore the fact that she’d said she was going to the kitchen to find some snacks but would return empty-handed. She blamed it on the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle. Her minifridge currently held the three-day-old remnants of a meal at Chili’s, three bottles of beer, half a jar of dill pickles, and a thing of ketchup. She didn’t even like ketchup. The pantry wasn’t much better. She’d been trying to cut down on her salty snacks habit, which was both doing nothing to help her slim down and not very helpful when it came to being a gracious hostess.

Opening the fridge a second time did nothing to help finger foods magically appear. What a time for witchcraft to fail her. She settled for grabbing two of the beers and heading back to the living room. A+ hostess. They ought to stamp her high society entrance ticket right now.

Peeta sat cross-legged in the center of the room, eyes closed and swaying along with the music flooding through the oversized headphones. She had spent hours over the past three days going through the songs she’d written over the years. Like everything, ninety percent of them were absolute shit, but she hadn’t touched some of them since high school, and revisiting them had brought her almost as many smiles as cringes. Almost.

“Anything sticking out to you?”

Peeta slipped off the headphones. “Yeah. How do you not have a solo career? Your voice is great.”

“Not what I was asking.”

“But inquiring minds want to know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Want a Bud Light?” She hadn’t even been prepared enough to buy decent beer.

“Yes, please.” She handed him the bottle, and he cracked it open and took a long sip, studying her the whole time. “You know, I’m not sure what to think of you.”

“Thank you very little.”

He grinned. “Caddyshack?”

“Yep. Two can play at that game.” She sat down on her sad, worn couch and opened her own beer. “And one can win.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to turn it into a competition. I’ve been touring at least eight months of the year for the past decade, and Netflix and I have spent a lot of quality time together.”

“I thought you liked traveling.” He had said that, hadn’t he? She probably should’ve been paying more attention to the words he said and less to the lips that said them during their earlier meetings, but who could blame a girl for looking? A painfully single woman whose only serious relationship had petered out eight years ago had every excuse.

“Oh, I do, a lot. And I try to get a good taste of the local culture wherever I go, but when you’re in Boise for the sixth time, you kind of run out of new things to do.”

“Fair.”

“Okay, you’ve dodged the question for long enough. Who are you?”

That question made her feel like a Bond girl: sexy, mysterious, and more likely than not playing both sides flawlessly. Too bad she had no idea what those two sides would be in this situation and all her foreign, ‘exotic’ accents were shit. “I’m not sure what you’re after.”

He scooched away to lean back against the room’s single chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not a bad thing. You’re just hard to figure out is all.” Peeta paused for a minute, collecting his thoughts. “What I mean is, I don’t understand why you’d be interested in this arrangement. You’re a rock guitarist, and you’re very successful at it, but the stuff you want to record is all pretty folky. I’m open to anything, but my background’s in pop.”

“Haymitch suggested it, and I thought it sounded like a good idea.”

“That doesn’t add up either. Why is it that you have a manager that’s mostly involved in the country scene?”

“Oh, that’s just coincidence. Haymitch was married to my mom for a very short time when I was a teenager, and we stayed in touch after they divorced. He actually got me my first break.” She rose one eyebrow. “That, or we’ve carefully crafted an intricate spider web of lies with which to entrap you.”

“A guy can never be too careful. The pretty ones are dangerous.”

She made note of that comment so the part of her that was still fourteen could overanalyze and obsess over it later. “Do you have a song picked out?”

“I’ve got it narrowed down to three, but I’m leaning toward ‘Mockingjay’.”

“I like that one too. Want to go for it?”

He laughed. “We’ve really put a lot of careful consideration into all of this, haven’t we?”

“Let’s call it great minds thinking alike instead.”

Annapolis, Maryland

September 1, 2015

Local Time: 9:07 PM

Peeta looked over to her and grinned. Ready? he mouthed.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hoping the butterflies would fly out of her stomach as she exhaled. When had that ever worked?

“Don’t worry. You’ll be great.” He could say that all he wanted. He’d been doing shows practically constantly for twenty years. Bill Clinton had still been president the last time she did a live gig. No, maybe it had been in 2001, right after Bush the Younger came into office. Either way, if it had been long enough that she didn’t remember the year, she certainly didn’t know what it would feel like. Fuck, it had been a few years since she’d been able to ride a roller coaster without feeling sick to her stomach the rest of the day, and that was way less adrenaline than getting in front of two hundred people and singing. Never mind that most of them were there to see Peeta, and that she was a sideshow attraction at best, she’d still be up there with him, and –

“Katniss, don’t worry. It’ll be fine. I mean it.” Peeta gave her upper arm the gentlest of punches. “You’re great. If you can play for Paul McCartney and impress him, you’ll amaze these people.”

Like wax strips, sometimes it was just better to tug things off as quickly as possible, bleeding or other bodily injury be damned. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“All right.” He winked. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

She frowned at him. “Casablanca, and that’s not the spirit at all.”

Peeta gave her another one of those grins that she was quickly coming to hate – or love, if there was any difference. “But it got your mind off of it.”

Annapolis, Maryland

September 1, 2015

Local Time: 10:56 PM

There wasn’t bleach strong enough to wipe the smile off her face. Who cared if she’d forgotten some of the words in the third verse of “Blowin’ In The Wind”? It hadn’t been her favorite song since middle school, and nobody could understand what Dylan was singing half the time anyway. It lent authenticity to their performance. The adrenaline had kicked in somewhere around the third number, and she hadn’t even wanted to take a break in between sets. While Peeta had gone to grab them some water, she had stayed on stage, singing any song that came to mind. Rock, folk, show tunes, at this point, she didn’t care. Why had she ever cared about that? Distinctions were stupid. She could play one thing as well as another, and if the audience didn’t mind, she wasn’t going to act all high and mighty about which things were better than which. Who got to decide what was good and not? Not her, that’s for sure, and if she had her way, they’d stop using words like that. Outdated language was what it was, not taking into account personal taste. As always, the patriarchy stayed hard at work, grueling over their 1950s-era language like they knew best. They’d be upset when they got home and realized she didn’t have dinner ready for them, but their time was long gone, and hers had dawned.

“It’s about time that we wrap up for tonight.” A few audience members groaned at Peeta’s words. He cocked his head and grinned. “Don’t be too sad. We’re going to miss you too. But, before we head out, we’ve got a real treat for you: our first public performance of our new single, ‘Mockingjay,’ now available!”

“One, two, three, four!” She started with the guitar, and there it was, out for the world to see. Katniss had practiced this song hundreds of times since Haymitch and Effie pulled this tour together two weeks before. Every night before bed, every morning when she woke up. If she wasn’t playing it, she was thinking through it, running through the chords, quizzing herself on the lyrics. Her fingers knew what to do, and the word slipped out without any conscious thought, and for the first time in years, she could just be.

She watched, and she listened, but mostly, she floated above everything. It sounded so cheesy in retrospect, but she felt like she was in the audience more than on stage, watching herself and Peeta as an outsider. She loved it, all of it. The words sat right in a way that only her own words could, the representation of feelings that, though shared in some respect with the rest of humanity, were hers and hers alone. She basked in his voice, swayed with her accompaniment, and the chorus slowly pulled her back to herself. At the second chorus, she and Peeta locked eyes, and they didn’t break their gaze until the last chord finishing reverberating through the room.

Applause made her nerves light up brighter than the Christmas tree at the Rockefeller Center. Heat rushed to Katniss’ cheeks, and as soon as she finished two stiff bows, she got the hell out of there. Though Peeta had spent several minutes greeting fans after his show in San Bernadino, he followed only a few steps behind. “You were great!” he said, beaming. Post-gig afterglow was definitely a real phenomenon.

“You think so?” She should say something nice about his performance back, but her mind was still reeling from all of it, and that had only been a hundred and fifty people. What would she do if they ever sold out a stadium? Probably too early to be thinking about that, considering that before the show, they’d only sold ninety-seven copies of ‘Mockingjay’ on iTunes, and that number included Prim, her mom, and all of Peeta’s family, but it never hurt to plan ahead.

“Incredible.” He’d moved even closer. From here, it was impossible not to notice how brilliantly blue his eyes were, and she just wanted to stare at them for a while, commit every detail of them to memory. It didn’t register that there might be a reason Peeta’s face was so close until his lips met hers.

One hand found his shoulder while the fingers of the other carded through thick blonde hair. He wrapped his arms around her, warm and strong, and she sighed against him, moving herself in closer still. Peeta’s breathing turned ragged as his fingers brushed against the back of her neck, and though she keened into the touch, the rational part of her brain finally kicked in. Katniss wanted nothing more than to give in, to do as she’d wanted to from the moment they’d met, but as warmth and desire curled and pooled within her, she moved her lips away from his. “Peeta,” she said, breathless. “Peeta, this is a bad idea.”

His forehead furrowed for the briefest of instants, then he stepped away. “I’m sorry. I thought – never mind. I apologize.”

“No, don’t.” God, she wanted to kiss him again, replace that regret with the passion she’d felt just seconds prior. She wet her lips, and his eyes followed the motion. “I mean, don’t be sorry. Just don’t do it again.”

“Of course,” he responded, avoiding her eyes. Somehow, she doubted the plain white wall was really that interesting, but Katniss wasn’t going to call him out on that. She’d done enough damage already. “Um, should I go, or do you want me to stick around and walk you back to your room?”

She was more than capable of finding her way from the hotel’s club back to her room, thank you very much, and any other time, she would make sure he knew that. “I’d like to walk with you.” Katniss glanced down at his hand, thought about how nice it would be to walk up hand in hand, invite him inside, let herself cut loose for the first time in months, but he stuffed his fists into his pockets. “Peeta?” she asked. “It really is all right.”

He gave her the stiffest nod she’d ever received.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

November 7, 2015

Local Time: 8:31 AM

“Katniss!” The door rattled on its hinges as he knocked. Wanted to wake up the entire hotel, did he? “Katniss!”

Eight thirty was way too early to be dealing with this kind of shit. Still, she didn’t want the poor guests that got stuck next to her to have any more of their mornings ruined. With a sigh, she hoisted herself out of bed and padded over to the door. “What’s wrong?” she said as the door swung open to reveal a far too excited Peeta.

“Wrong? We’re in the top ten!”

“Wait, really?” Any remaining grogginess disappeared in an instant. “Let me see!”

He pressed his phone into her hands and stepped further into her room.

Her hand flew up to her mouth to cover her gasp. There it was, everything she’d been dreaming of. A top ten chart, and there they were, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, right at sweet, sweet number three. She never thought she’d live to see the day. It had seemed impossible, the ultimate pipe dream. No, some random pipe had a better chance of being stolen and made into a found art item valued at a million dollars than she had of releasing a hit single. Incredible. Just incredible.

She turned at a popping sound to see Peeta standing next to the dresser, pouring two glasses of champagne. Usually, she’d say it was too early to start drinking, but today, Katniss could get away with anything. Damn responsibility. Who was going judge her for a little early-morning alcohol? The only other person who knew about this was right there in the same boat with her.

Wait, what chart was this? God, she hoped it was the Hot 100. Anything was a godsend, but Billboard… Billboard was something else, and –

Sverigetopplistan. There was no way that was a real word. She couldn’t even begin to pronounce it. But it had the words ‘top’ and ‘list’, and that couldn’t be good.

A quick Google search told her everything she needed to know. “We’re only number three in Sweden?”

“We’re actually at three in Finland too. ‘Mockingjay’ is doing really well all across Scandinavia. I know it’s in the top twenty in Denmark and Norway, and I want to say it’s doing about the same in Latvia or Lithuania – I don’t remember which. Isn’t it great?”

“Uh, yeah.” She couldn’t help that her voice sounded a little flat.

Peeta winced. “Sorry, the way I said that made it sound like we had it on the British or American charts, didn’t it? I wasn’t trying to get your hopes up.” He held up the glass. “Champagne? I shelled out for some halfway decent stuff.”

She accepted the glass. “Thanks. To us?”

“To our continuing success,” he replied. They clinked their glasses together. “You know, I think we’re looking at this the wrong way. We are now international pop stars.”

“We appeal to the more refined tastes of the European market,” she added.

“America might be our homeland, but it is also our respite from our legions of devoted fans.” The CDC probably classified Peeta’s smile as a communicable disease. “Why would you want to be on the Walk of Fame in Hollywood when you could be on the one in Stockholm? Much cleaner.”

Katniss laughed and went for another sip of champagne only to find it was all gone. He noticed and went to fetch the bottle. “We can’t have you running out of champagne. After that first hit, you never know when the diva behavior is going to start kicking in.”

“You know, you’re really lucky that you’re cute, because otherwise, there’s no way I would put up with that.” The words just slipped out before she could really think about what she was saying. She hadn’t drank enough yet to blame it on the champagne yet, either. Damn it. Alcoholism was a terrible disease, and she understood that, but what she wouldn’t give right now to use Haymitch’s ‘I haven’t been in complete control of my actions for a decade’ excuse.

Peeta’s grin widened. “Just how much would you let me get away with?” His expression was pure sin, and Katniss blushed practically down to her toes.

“Has Haymitch heard the news yet?” Time to change the subject before she said anything even more regretful.

And as though flirting was as easy to turn on and off as a light switch – and for him, maybe it was – Peeta was back to friendly but professional. “Yeah, he’s the one who called me. Believe it or not, I don’t spend my mornings browsing the Scandinavian pop charts.”

“You might have to start now.”

“Good point. Guess I can work it into my busy schedule somehow,” Peeta laughed.

Gary, Indiana

November 23, 2015

Local Time: 10:14 AM

Peeta was a world-class pacer. Unless social niceties dictated that he absolutely had to sit, the man kept to his little four steps forward, right turn, four steps, right turn habit at all times. And so when Katniss walked into his hotel room – they’d left knocking behind weeks ago – to find him talking on the phone and standing stock-still in the very center of the room, she immediately grew concerned.

He didn’t notice her presence, too focused on his conversation to hear soft footsteps against the carpet. She moved back towards the door. He deserved his privacy as much as anyone else. “Yeah, for sure. That’d be a great opportunity, and I’m sure Katniss is on board too.” At the sound of her name, she froze. “I just need to check that the schedule will work out. We’re on the road right now, and you know how I am with dates.” He paused while the person on the other end spoke. “Of course. I’ll call our manager right now and get back to you as soon as I’ve got something. Yep, talk to you soon. Say hi to Annie and Ronan for me.”

“Who was that, and what am I on board for?”

Peeta jumped at the sound of her voice, but he quickly recovered. “Finnick. He’s got a big tour coming up, and his opening act canceled on him at the last minute. He’s wondering if we’re available.” She managed to keep her mouth from falling open, but only barely. Peeta laughed. “Yeah, that was my reaction too. He says he really likes ‘Mockingjay,’ and Annie – that’s his wife, she’s a sweetheart – has been playing it nonstop for days.”

In any other circumstance, she would be flattered, but her mind could only focus on one of those ideas at a time. “He wants us to tour with him?”

“Yeah. Isn’t it great? I mean, you do want to, right?”

“When?” She sounded breathless. Accurate.

“His first show’s in Seattle on the fourteenth.”

“Three weeks.” Okay, they could do three weeks. It might be a little bit of a logistical nightmare to get everything together, but it was an achievable logistical nightmare with some fantastic benefits. How many people attended each of Finnick’s concerts? She’d gone and seen him at the Hollywood Bowl a few years ago with friends, and that place had to seat twenty thousand, easy. He could probably sell out much bigger stadiums, too, and even if the audience wasn’t super excited by the prospect of listening to something kind of folky before the pop show, that was still twenty thousand more people exposed to their music, and even if only one, two percent wanted to go and pick up the album…

“Katniss? What do you think?”

She snatched his phone out of his hand. “I’m going to call Haymitch. He and Effie can make this work. I don’t care if we have to rearrange a few other dates.” She laughed, probably looking like a crazy woman. Oh well. Crazy old witch was one thing, but successful crazy old witch was pretty freaking fantastic.

Los Angeles, California

December 9, 2015

Local Time: 4:21 PM

Beyond a nice dinner with Prim at Sae’s, Katniss scheduled nothing for the two weeks she would be in Los Angeles before they started touring again. Nothing was going to get in the way of her sleeping as much as possible. She put in a grocery order with a delivery service and checked out of life for two weeks. After more than two months of almost-nonstop touring, she deserved it.

It got old after two days. By the third, she was ready to pull hair, and whether it was hers or someone else’s didn’t much matter. Most of her friends weren’t around on an everyday basis – she supposed that kind of came with the entertainment business – and anyway, she’d never been the most social sort. Katniss knew she should be resting up for the next tour, but instead, she found herself filling every waking moment with something. The pervs that hung out on practically every street corner in Los Angeles had always turned her off of walking around the city by herself, but almost every day, she took hours-long walks around her area. She ducked into art galleries and coffee shops she’d noted as places to check out but never managed to get to and wandered around the city’s parks, snapping photos and picking the occasional flower when no one was watching.

As she explored, she allowed herself to think. Big mistake. She didn’t confine herself to any single topic, and she covered quite a bit of ground. Art, the meaning of life, whether or not she’d remembered to lock the apartment on her way out, all of it came up. But she mostly thought about Peeta. He was three thousand miles away in Boston, and she still couldn’t get away from him. Peeta Mellark had ruined ogling cute blond guys, because none of them could quite measure up. She’d see some diet-busting pastry in a window, and her mind would leap to the cheese buns and raspberry tarts she’d tried from his family’s bakery when they’d played that gig in Worcester. He had even infiltrated her blessed TV-watching, because flipping through channels, she’d end up on TCM, and there he was again with one of those movie quotes that she hated but couldn’t get enough of.

When she ended up watching one of the films, she’d text quotes to him, and no matter the time of day, within thirty seconds, he replied with the title. Katniss hoped he cheated and googled them. Nobody should have watched No Orchids for Miss Blandish enough times to be able to quote it.

Damn boy was driving her nuts. She’d given Delly a hard time in high school for crushes far less consuming. How low had she fallen?

Three more days until she saw him again, but who was keeping track?

Seattle, Washington

December 12, 2015

Local Time: 3:09 PM

“Peeta!” She ran towards him, luggage in tow. Two little old ladies moved to one side so she could pass, and one flashed her a thumbs up. Katniss had him wrapped in a hug the instant she got close enough. “How are you? How was Boston?”

He squeezed her. “I’ve been good. Kind of wondering why I thought it was a good idea to visit home in February, but it was good. Nice to see everyone.” He broke away first. Smart move – airport baggage claims were hardly the place for public displays of affection, even completely platonic ones between friends that definitely didn’t want to screw each other. “So, how’s California? Ten below and covered in snow like Boston?”

“Isn’t it always?”

Peeta laughed, and wow, had she missed that. Cliché as it was, Katniss was convinced that one noise could light up an entire room, maybe power all the street lights in Seattle for the rest of the year. “I’m sure you froze half to death.”

“I wore shorts every day I was home.”

“So did I. They only had to amputate one limb.”

“If you two are done, we’ve got the car waiting outside.” She spun to find Haymitch standing behind them and waiting.

“Hey, Haymitch. How’ve you been?”

“Good. Get in the car.” He pushed Peeta in front of him and stayed behind with Katniss a moment. “What do you think you’re doing, kid?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea anymore.”

Seattle, Washington

December 12, 2015

Local Time: 11:30 PM

“You know, I’ve been to rehab three times, and marrying your mother is still the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”

“Rehab was a mistake?” She couldn’t let something like that slide.

“No, the choices I made that landed me there were mistakes.” Haymitch took another swig of his Southern Comfort. “And the first time I went to rehab was a mistake too - made me think that getting clean was gonna make me come to Jesus or some shit like that, scared me off the idea for years – but that’s not the point. They always tell you that your drinking is affecting the lives of the people you love, and trust me, they’re right. They’ve got more scientists than I can count running all kinds of studies and coming up with figures to show you how right they are. And I’m good at fucking up the lives of the people around me – you’ve seen it more times than I want to remember.”

Katniss nodded, wary. She was used to Haymitch drunk, or angry, or the quiet, determined way he got when he had a plan that he was dead-set on seeing to completion, but she hadn’t seen this kind of open emotion from him before. Frankly, the thought of some baring their soul, particularly to her, made Katniss a little nauseous. She had signed up for Thursday night drinks and catching up, not a feelings orgy worthy of the Hallmark channel.

But he kept going, a steamroller headed downhill at a hundred miles an with no brakes. “Well, I really thought I had things under control this time. Y’know, I’d been to rehab, managed to stay clean for a whole year. Still wanted a drink from the moment I got up right up ‘til I fell asleep at night, but I figured that was to be expected. I know you’ve heard all that before, but it bears worth repeating. Your mom, she just seemed perfect. Too perfect, looking back on things. Gorgeous, smart, patient as can be – you’d have to be, to put up with me.”

She had her own opinion on that matter, but now wasn’t the time. “Haymitch, I’ve got things to do today. You sure that –“

“Let me finish. Long story short, she was too good for me, and I knew it, but I somehow managed to con her into marrying me anyway. And guess what? All I wanted to do was make things better. I really did, and still do, care about how you all ended up, but I couldn’t keep it together, and I ended up taking you all with me. Made you move, have to do the whole new school, new friends thing, made you deal with my problems, forced you to deal with my divorce because I wasn’t responsible enough to deal with my shit by myself.” Tears had gathered in the corners of his eyes. She wasn’t sure if she should try to comfort him or bolt. Katniss settled for reaching over and giving him an awkward pat on the back. Beyond a few handshakes over the years, this might very well be the first time she’d touched Haymitch. She’d been twelve when he’d come into her family’s life, and at a point in her life when she scorned physical contact with everybody, and neither of them had ever been the touchy-feely type. “Cut it out. You see, it’s happening again. I’m the one who made you hurt, and now you’re cleaning me up. That’s what happens when you let someone who’s too good for you in. You take and take until there’s nothing left to give, and when they finally give up and leave you, you’re both left with nothing.”

“You think Peeta’s too good for me.”

Haymitch’s eyes were steady as he nodded.

“Fuck off.” God, she wanted to leave with that, but something kept her rooted in place. She choked on something that wasn’t quite a laugh and bordered on a sob. “That’s precious, coming from you.”

“There’s a reason we get along so well, sweetheart. Here, have some.” He pushed the bottle towards her, but she pushed it away as she rose, spilling fat drops of amber liquor all over the pristine white couch. It’d be a bitch to clean up later, she reflected, but then again, so would she.

Katniss didn’t stop running until she was well into the parking lot, and even then, she only stopped because there was no place to go.

That seemed to happen a lot these days.

Toronto, Ontario

January 10, 2016

Local Time: 11:11 AM

When she and Peeta had gone on tour previously, it really had been just the two of them, Peeta’s Lincoln, and four different hotel rewards cards. They didn’t have a lot of extra equipment, so there was no need for anyone to help them haul anything, and though there were at least daily phone calls with Effie and Haymitch, nobody needed to be there to hold their hand and get them to the gigs on time. It was bare-bones, but it was fun. Yeah, that meant that she had spent an evening in Peeta’s car with a bottle of nail polish remover after a less-than-successful attempt at giving herself a pedicure in a moving vehicle, but they also got to talk and joke and stop at stupid roadside attractions whenever they felt like it.

Finnick’s touring was as far away from that as one could get. First of all, they had a private jet. She supposed that made sense, as thirty-five people accompanied Finnick everywhere. Family, security, personal assistant, sound engineer, stage coordinator, the backing group, Katniss, Peeta, and two people whose purpose on the tour remained a mystery even four weeks into the three-month stint. She blamed those people for her current situation.

There was a timid knock, then the door opened just a crack. “Are you feeling okay?” Peeta asked.

“The only reason I know I’m not dead is that everything still hurts.” Her voice came out as little more than a whisper. Katniss had always liked to think that she could tough her way through just about anything. How nice of this cold/flu/sinus monstrosity to rid her of that delusion.

Peeta didn’t move away from the door. Smart guy. “Do you think you’re going to feel good enough to perform tonight?”

“Yes.” That wasn’t even a question. She would have to actually be dead to not show up for tonight’s show. In the halo ring that was this tour, tonight’s show, the only one that would be broadcast live to millions of home viewers, was the pendant diamond, the one your friends were really complimenting when they said how pretty the whole thing looked. They forecasted that twelve million viewers would tune in tonight. She was going to wow every single one of them.

“You can’t talk. How are you going to sing?”

“I’ll rest until then.”

Peeta frowned. “I’ll go to CVS. Do you like pills or liquid cold medicine better?”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Liquid then. I’ll get some soup too. Don’t go around infecting anyone else.”

She mumbled something at that, but even Katniss wasn’t quite sure what point she was trying to get across.

Toronto, Ontario

January 10, 2016

Local Time: 4:55 PM

She loved those green lights. They should make all the lights green. Then the cars could go faster because they’d never have to stop, and all the people would be happy because they spent more time with their families and less time driving. Lots of good things were green. In fact, she couldn’t’ think of a single bad green thing. Money, trees, kale, those rain boots she’d been eyeing at Target since last winter… they should make everything green. It would be nicer that way. “Don’t you think so?”

“Don’t I think what?”

“That everything should be green.”

Peeta shook his head. “I think you’re a lot less coherent on cold medicine than you led me to believe. I don’t have any strong opinions on the color green.”

“That’s too bad.” Peeta had a green sweater that made his arms look fantastic. Maybe she could convince him to wear it more often.

He had other things on his mind. Peeta’s voice dropped. “Look, we’re going to have you lip sync tonight, all right? Haymitch has a tape of your part on all our songs, and all you’ll need to do is mouth along with the words and pretend to play your guitar.”

“Okay.” She hated lip syncing, but it was hard to be upset about things right now. Why think about the bad things when there was so much green?

Toronto, Ontario

January 10, 2016

Local Time: 7:21 PM

The wiggles went through her entire body when she tried to shake the nerves out, tickling enough that she giggled out loud. Her fingers felt fat and sluggish as they danced over her guitar. The object was so familiar that it might have been another limb, but holding it now, it could just as easily have come from another planet. The weight was off, the balance just not there, and when had the strings gotten so little? No matter. She’d made it through three songs. She could handle two more before she went backstage and conked out.

‘Mockingjay’ shouldn’t be too bad. The first chords were easy. It started nice and slow, perfect for beginners and heavily-medicated Katnisses, before picking up speed. She knew what she was doing. Same thing, just faster, and faster, and faster, and then –

She realized an instant too late that this was her verse. Her eyes widened, and she did her best to start mouthing along, but the damage had been done. Whispers from the crowd rolled over her in waves, and it was all she could do to not cry on stage.

They struggled through that next number. She gave it everything she had – so not much – but she couldn’t sell it. Because of her fuck up, both of them would be in the papers tomorrow. They’d never have a successful album. Hell, they might not even be able to record an album. Nobody would invite them on tour again. Peeta might be able to go back to his old career, but maybe not. Opportunities dried up quickly in this business, which she knew better than anyone.

Katniss fell apart as soon as she got backstage. “Katniss, hey, it’s no big deal. I should have told Finnick you couldn’t go on. I’m so sorry.” Peeta’s words burned like acid over fresh wounds. He knew what she had ruined, and here he was, comforting her. If she was going to wreck something for someone, why couldn’t she pick some awful person who kicked puppies or something? Why did it have to be the nicest, sweetest man she’d ever been lucky enough to meet? Haymitch was right. “Katniss, I’m really –“

She kissed him. “Shut up.” Another one, this time harder – and now that he had gotten over his initial shock, he responded. Peeta dragged her close, pressing her tight against his chest. One hand found her waist, and the other toyed with the ends of her braid. His heartbeat was going nuts, but so was hers, so she supposed that was fair, and she –

“Hey, you two have a dressing room for that.” Peeta pulled away, and she turned to glare at Haymitch. He wouldn’t be cowed so easily. “Hey, if you don’t want to start damage control right now, I’m gonna enjoy the concert.”

“It’s okay, Katniss.” Peeta pulled her into their shared dressing room. “It’ll be okay, all of it. I promise.”

The worry swelled over her again. “You can’t promise that.”

“We can avoid the internet for a couple days. It’ll blow over.”

She closed her eyes and nuzzled up against his chest. “Maybe.” At least he smelled nice. Small consolation, but she’d take what she could get.

He kissed the top of her head. “Either way, we can’t do anything about it now.”

Another thought came to her. “I’m sorry if I gave you the flu.” Because she just couldn’t stop screwing up today, could she?

“Hey, it’ll make it easier to not go online, right?” he laughed. Then his voice dropped. “But since I’m already infected, I suppose there’s not anything to keep me from kissing you again, is there?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her level.

Boston, Massachusetts

October 11, 2028

Local Time: 7:31 PM

She’d been convinced that it was Haymitch who always edited the “Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark” page on Wikipedia, but in the two years since his death, it continued to change. Every week, some new, strange story popped up that managed to keep the basic outline of their story the same while putting them into the strangest circumstances. She rather liked this one, a fairy-tale themed story involving dragons (poor Effie), a knight in shining armor, and herself as the beautiful princess trapped in the castle of studio work while she longed to be out among the people. Pity it had to go.

She copied and pasted the short version of the group’s history into editing window and hit ‘submit’. Nowhere near as interesting, but at least there were no beheadings in this version.

Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark are an American folk-rock duo. Since the two artists began collaborating in 2015, they have released four studio albums and toured extensively. Though best known in the United States for their first single, ‘Mockingjay,’ and a lip-syncing controversy that occurred during a televised Finnick Odair performance, the duo has achieved great critical and commercial success in northern Europe. They are most popular in Sweden, where their third studio album ‘Girl on Fire’ held the number one chart position for thirty-one weeks between 2021 and 2022. The duo began dating shortly after meeting in 2015 and married on June 11, 2017 in Mellark’s hometown of Boston, Massachusetts. They are parents to three adopted children: Aster Mellark (born 2019), Rye Mellark (born 2024), and Senna Mellark (born 2026). In September of 2028, Everdeen and Mellark released dates for their Everlark tour, their ninth world tour, with dates across Europe and East Asia.

Only when she was reading it through for the second time did she notice that she’d forgotten to delete the prankster’s last line. Katniss smiled. She highlighted it, and her finger hovered over the backspace key, but she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it.

And they lived happily ever after.

After all, who was she to argue with the truth?

So sorry I posted this early on Ao3 and FFN. I promise that I can count. Don’t take away my math degree.

[fayecallasdatingblog]

9 Signs He’s a Player And Has Bad Intentions With You

If you’re looking up “signs he’s a player,” I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that you’re dating a guy who seems to be playing with your mind just a little bit. A man who won’t commit, no matter how amazing you are. A man who sees you as part of his lineup of women that he’s sleeping with.

But before you cut ties with him, you want to make absolutely certain that he is indeed a player. Then you’ll cut bait and move on. Am I right?

Between the ages of 24 to 28 years old, I loved to party. I loved to go out a lot. I wouldn’t say I was a “player…” but looking back, I’m sure some of the women I dated saw me that way. Looking back, I can’t believe how I was then and how much I’ve changed.

But now, being in a very happy four-year relationship, I have a different insight into signs he’s a player (and yeah, that I was, too). I’m going to share those with you so that you can quickly determine whether this man is worth your time and emotion or not.

Your Coach,

      P.S. If you can get a man to commit, you never have to worry about him being a player! Sign up for my special training to get a man to miss you and commit to only you, and you won’t have to read articles about “signs he’s a player” anymore!

9 Signs He’s a Player That You Should NEVER Ignore

You’re looking for true love. You’re not looking to date a man-child who only wants one thing from you.

You want something real. And you deserve it.

Dating after 40 is tough. I get it. If a guy hasn’t been married…you want to know why. If he has…you want to know what went wrong. There are a shocking number of players out there at every age…and you simply don’t have the energy to cut through the crap to find the real gems…if they’re even out there.

They are, I promise. Good guys — men worthy of your love — exist, and once you learn to identify the signs he’s a player, you’ll be able to pass on all the wrong men to get to the right One. So if the man you’re dating is showing any or all of the following signs he’s a player, don’t waste another second on him, because he’s standing in your way to happiness.

1. He Almost Seems…Emotionally Dead on the Inside

Is there an empty spot where his heart should be?

Have you ever dated a guy and wondered to yourself, “Is this dude a f$#%ing robot?”

He’s probably not a robot…he’s just not trying to show you the emotion you want to see, that you need to feel a connection with him.

(By the way, I shouldn’t knock robots; scientists are working on creating robots that feel emotions, so even they have this guy beat!)

When a guy is sleeping around, hooking up with various women, the last thing he wants to do is open up that emotional side to any of them. He’s not about to get sucked into a relationship when he can keep playing the field, so he compartmentalizes sex from emotion. Men are good at that.

Relationship counselor David Bennet says:

“Men are more emotionally compartmentalized — women’s brains seem to have more overall connectivity, which means emotions from one experience or task spill into other experiences and tasks.” 

So if you’re dating a man who seems void of all emotion, he’s not a scientific anomaly. He’s just a player who doesn’t want you to see that vulnerable side of him. You never will see it, either, so don’t try to convince him otherwise.

2. He’s Got a Player Lifestyle

If you find yourself attracted to bartenders or musicians or professional athletes…be aware that there are a high number of players in these professions. Even men who travel all of the time are more likely to be players since they’re rarely in one place long enough to have a relationship and it’s easy to hide sleeping with other women when they’re scattered all over the globe.

In each of these examples, these men are exposed to a ton of women — women who, like you, are attracted to lead singers or men who can make a mean martini — and the temptation is always there. If they aren’t into being in a relationship, they see their profession as the perfect opportunity to sleep around with as many women as possible.

Now, I know it’s a bit unfair to jump to the conclusion that all bartenders or musicians are players because that certainly isn’t true, but…if the man you’re dating is in one of these professions and exhibits some of these other signs he’s a player…then tread very carefully.

3. He’s Really, Really Smooth

via GIPHY

How did you meet this man?

Did he approach you from across the room, chat you up, get your number…and it felt too good to be true?

Sorry to say, but it probably is…unless you like dating a smooth operator!

Guys who are good at flirting and getting women’s attention are good at it for a reason: they do it a lot. Trust me: as a dating coach who used to teach men how to meet you sexy, single ladies, flirting really is a learnable skill. The more they go out and flirt with women, the better they get at doing it.

So if the guy you’re dating is really smooth at flirting, he’s probably flirting with more than just you.

4. The Relationship Revolves Around Sex

Will he meet you for lunch on a Tuesday?

NOPE. Never has happened. Never will.

The only time he’s willing to meet you is if he knows it will result in sex. Sorry to break it to you, but you’re not dating this guy. You’re sleeping with him. It won’t turn into a relationship, so you’re better off cutting ties now before you get really hurt.

5. He’ll Meet Your Friends, But You Won’t Meet His

Sure, he’s willing to meet your friends, to chat them up, so that you like him and will continue to sleep with him…

But he won’t risk having you meet his friends. Why? Because, quite frankly, they might spill the beans about the floozy he brought to them the week prior.

One of the signs he’s a player is that he’s pretty secretive about his life, and that’s for a reason. He doesn’t want to get caught with evidence that he’s sleeping with multiple women.

6. His Life is in Flux

While you used to admire his wanderlust, now you wonder what he’s running from…

Is he constantly jumping around from job to job…

…Or looking to move to Chicago one week…then Berlin the next?

If that’s the case, then security and commitment are clearly not core values in his life right now.  He’s jumping around, trying to figure out what to do with his life. That isn’t necessarily a sign he’s a player, but it does mean he most likely will not make a good partner for you right now…or ever.

7. You Catch Him in Lies About His Social Life

Did he tell you he’s got a boys’ night out on Friday? But then you saw on his Instagram story that he was with a group of girls…not guys.

Dishonesty isn’t the way to start a relationship…and you can be fairly certain he’s sleeping with at least one of those women.

But some guys are too slick to get caught on social media like that. Are there other inconsistencies? Like you ask what he did last weekend twice, and you get two different answers? Or he goes to elaborate efforts to tell you about a place he went…that you’ve actually been to and it doesn’t match up?

Listen to your intuition here. A liar will never be Mr. Right.

8. You’ve Slept With Him More Than 3 Times…But Never Been on a Real Date

Guys that are players don’t want to take women on real dates (like paying for, oh, I don’t know, DINNER?) because they don’t want to set unrealistic expectations. They want to keep it in the bedroom.

So if you’re finding that you’re having sex but not really doing what real couples do — i.e. having meaningful conversations over coffee, going to a nice restaurant, even just being out in public holding hands — chances are he only wants sex from you and is indeed showing signs he’s a player.

9. All of Your Friends Tell You He’s a Player

Your friends only want you to be happy…so start listening to them!

All of your friends are telling you he’s a player…or even worse, your friends are sending you this video and article right now to tell you to get out of a bad situation!

Look: are your friends always right? Of course not! BUT if all your friends are giving you the same feedback — that this guy is playing you — you owe it to yourself to explore the situation a bit further and really heed their advice. After all, they only want what’s best for you.

Conclusion:

At this point, you’ve come to one of two conclusions:

Conclusion 1: You realize that the man you’re dating isn’t a player, but that maybe he’s just moving slowly. He’s exhibiting signs of wanting to be in a relationship with you (he takes you on dates, you have long phone calls about anything and everything, he’s looking for more than just sex), but maybe hasn’t taken the step toward full commitment. I hope that’s the case because you can definitely work with that.

Conclusion 2: You have read this list of signs he’s a player and you’re like “oh yeah, Adam. This guy is totally a player.”

The question is, in the second situation: what will you do now? You respect yourself too much to let this man play you, and he’s just a roadblock on your way to finding true love. So don’t waste a single second on him. And don’t try to play games to give him a taste of his own medicine either. Just exit stage left as quickly as possible.

What can you say to end things?

“We seem to want different things right now. I’m looking for something of substance, while you seem to be looking for something casual.”

“I’m really a one-guy kind of gal, so dating other people isn’t really something I’m into. Best of luck to you!”

Realize that his ego will be bruised. Above all, players like collecting trophies (women), so he might not let you go so easily. He may make promises that, I assure you, he cannot keep. He may lie and say he’s not dating other women, even though you have evidence to the contrary.

Again, trust your gut. Look at him as part of the bigger picture: can you imagine yourself still dating him in six months? A year? 10? No? I didn’t think so. Make your speech and move on.

So now let me hear from you ladies. Have you ever dated a player? Tell us the story in the comments below (and boy, I’m willing to bet there will be some good ones!).

While you can’t change a player, you can make the right man move a little faster toward committing to you. In my Make Him Commit Webinar, I teach you how to open his eyes to show him what a high-value woman you actually are.

  The post 9 Signs He’s a Player And Has Bad Intentions With You appeared first on Sexy Confidence.

from Meet Positives SM Feed https://ift.tt/2QK0A7t via IFTTT

[travisandersondatingblog]

9 Signs He’s a Player And Has Bad Intentions With You

If you’re looking up “signs he’s a player,” I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that you’re dating a guy who seems to be playing with your mind just a little bit. A man who won’t commit, no matter how amazing you are. A man who sees you as part of his lineup of women that he’s sleeping with.

But before you cut ties with him, you want to make absolutely certain that he is indeed a player. Then you’ll cut bait and move on. Am I right?

Between the ages of 24 to 28 years old, I loved to party. I loved to go out a lot. I wouldn’t say I was a “player…” but looking back, I’m sure some of the women I dated saw me that way. Looking back, I can’t believe how I was then and how much I’ve changed.

But now, being in a very happy four-year relationship, I have a different insight into signs he’s a player (and yeah, that I was, too). I’m going to share those with you so that you can quickly determine whether this man is worth your time and emotion or not.

Your Coach,

      P.S. If you can get a man to commit, you never have to worry about him being a player! Sign up for my special training to get a man to miss you and commit to only you, and you won’t have to read articles about “signs he’s a player” anymore!

9 Signs He’s a Player That You Should NEVER Ignore

You’re looking for true love. You’re not looking to date a man-child who only wants one thing from you.

You want something real. And you deserve it.

Dating after 40 is tough. I get it. If a guy hasn’t been married…you want to know why. If he has…you want to know what went wrong. There are a shocking number of players out there at every age…and you simply don’t have the energy to cut through the crap to find the real gems…if they’re even out there.

They are, I promise. Good guys — men worthy of your love — exist, and once you learn to identify the signs he’s a player, you’ll be able to pass on all the wrong men to get to the right One. So if the man you’re dating is showing any or all of the following signs he’s a player, don’t waste another second on him, because he’s standing in your way to happiness.

1. He Almost Seems…Emotionally Dead on the Inside

Is there an empty spot where his heart should be?

Have you ever dated a guy and wondered to yourself, “Is this dude a f$#%ing robot?”

He’s probably not a robot…he’s just not trying to show you the emotion you want to see, that you need to feel a connection with him.

(By the way, I shouldn’t knock robots; scientists are working on creating robots that feel emotions, so even they have this guy beat!)

When a guy is sleeping around, hooking up with various women, the last thing he wants to do is open up that emotional side to any of them. He’s not about to get sucked into a relationship when he can keep playing the field, so he compartmentalizes sex from emotion. Men are good at that.

Relationship counselor David Bennet says:

“Men are more emotionally compartmentalized — women’s brains seem to have more overall connectivity, which means emotions from one experience or task spill into other experiences and tasks.” 

So if you’re dating a man who seems void of all emotion, he’s not a scientific anomaly. He’s just a player who doesn’t want you to see that vulnerable side of him. You never will see it, either, so don’t try to convince him otherwise.

2. He’s Got a Player Lifestyle

If you find yourself attracted to bartenders or musicians or professional athletes…be aware that there are a high number of players in these professions. Even men who travel all of the time are more likely to be players since they’re rarely in one place long enough to have a relationship and it’s easy to hide sleeping with other women when they’re scattered all over the globe.

In each of these examples, these men are exposed to a ton of women — women who, like you, are attracted to lead singers or men who can make a mean martini — and the temptation is always there. If they aren’t into being in a relationship, they see their profession as the perfect opportunity to sleep around with as many women as possible.

Now, I know it’s a bit unfair to jump to the conclusion that all bartenders or musicians are players because that certainly isn’t true, but…if the man you’re dating is in one of these professions and exhibits some of these other signs he’s a player…then tread very carefully.

3. He’s Really, Really Smooth

via GIPHY

How did you meet this man?

Did he approach you from across the room, chat you up, get your number…and it felt too good to be true?

Sorry to say, but it probably is…unless you like dating a smooth operator!

Guys who are good at flirting and getting women’s attention are good at it for a reason: they do it a lot. Trust me: as a dating coach who used to teach men how to meet you sexy, single ladies, flirting really is a learnable skill. The more they go out and flirt with women, the better they get at doing it.

So if the guy you’re dating is really smooth at flirting, he’s probably flirting with more than just you.

4. The Relationship Revolves Around Sex

Will he meet you for lunch on a Tuesday?

NOPE. Never has happened. Never will.

The only time he’s willing to meet you is if he knows it will result in sex. Sorry to break it to you, but you’re not dating this guy. You’re sleeping with him. It won’t turn into a relationship, so you’re better off cutting ties now before you get really hurt.

5. He’ll Meet Your Friends, But You Won’t Meet His

Sure, he’s willing to meet your friends, to chat them up, so that you like him and will continue to sleep with him…

But he won’t risk having you meet his friends. Why? Because, quite frankly, they might spill the beans about the floozy he brought to them the week prior.

One of the signs he’s a player is that he’s pretty secretive about his life, and that’s for a reason. He doesn’t want to get caught with evidence that he’s sleeping with multiple women.

6. His Life is in Flux

While you used to admire his wanderlust, now you wonder what he’s running from…

Is he constantly jumping around from job to job…

…Or looking to move to Chicago one week…then Berlin the next?

If that’s the case, then security and commitment are clearly not core values in his life right now.  He’s jumping around, trying to figure out what to do with his life. That isn’t necessarily a sign he’s a player, but it does mean he most likely will not make a good partner for you right now…or ever.

7. You Catch Him in Lies About His Social Life

Did he tell you he’s got a boys’ night out on Friday? But then you saw on his Instagram story that he was with a group of girls…not guys.

Dishonesty isn’t the way to start a relationship…and you can be fairly certain he’s sleeping with at least one of those women.

But some guys are too slick to get caught on social media like that. Are there other inconsistencies? Like you ask what he did last weekend twice, and you get two different answers? Or he goes to elaborate efforts to tell you about a place he went…that you’ve actually been to and it doesn’t match up?

Listen to your intuition here. A liar will never be Mr. Right.

8. You’ve Slept With Him More Than 3 Times…But Never Been on a Real Date

Guys that are players don’t want to take women on real dates (like paying for, oh, I don’t know, DINNER?) because they don’t want to set unrealistic expectations. They want to keep it in the bedroom.

So if you’re finding that you’re having sex but not really doing what real couples do — i.e. having meaningful conversations over coffee, going to a nice restaurant, even just being out in public holding hands — chances are he only wants sex from you and is indeed showing signs he’s a player.

9. All of Your Friends Tell You He’s a Player

Your friends only want you to be happy…so start listening to them!

All of your friends are telling you he’s a player…or even worse, your friends are sending you this video and article right now to tell you to get out of a bad situation!

Look: are your friends always right? Of course not! BUT if all your friends are giving you the same feedback — that this guy is playing you — you owe it to yourself to explore the situation a bit further and really heed their advice. After all, they only want what’s best for you.

Conclusion:

At this point, you’ve come to one of two conclusions:

Conclusion 1: You realize that the man you’re dating isn’t a player, but that maybe he’s just moving slowly. He’s exhibiting signs of wanting to be in a relationship with you (he takes you on dates, you have long phone calls about anything and everything, he’s looking for more than just sex), but maybe hasn’t taken the step toward full commitment. I hope that’s the case because you can definitely work with that.

Conclusion 2: You have read this list of signs he’s a player and you’re like “oh yeah, Adam. This guy is totally a player.”

The question is, in the second situation: what will you do now? You respect yourself too much to let this man play you, and he’s just a roadblock on your way to finding true love. So don’t waste a single second on him. And don’t try to play games to give him a taste of his own medicine either. Just exit stage left as quickly as possible.

What can you say to end things?

“We seem to want different things right now. I’m looking for something of substance, while you seem to be looking for something casual.”

“I’m really a one-guy kind of gal, so dating other people isn’t really something I’m into. Best of luck to you!”

Realize that his ego will be bruised. Above all, players like collecting trophies (women), so he might not let you go so easily. He may make promises that, I assure you, he cannot keep. He may lie and say he’s not dating other women, even though you have evidence to the contrary.

Again, trust your gut. Look at him as part of the bigger picture: can you imagine yourself still dating him in six months? A year? 10? No? I didn’t think so. Make your speech and move on.

So now let me hear from you ladies. Have you ever dated a player? Tell us the story in the comments below (and boy, I’m willing to bet there will be some good ones!).

While you can’t change a player, you can make the right man move a little faster toward committing to you. In my Make Him Commit Webinar, I teach you how to open his eyes to show him what a high-value woman you actually are.

  The post 9 Signs He’s a Player And Has Bad Intentions With You appeared first on Sexy Confidence.

from Meet Positives SM Feed 3 https://ift.tt/2QK0A7t via IFTTT