#its just my dash was JUST warrior cats for like a month

[waywardwonderlandbear]

The Quest Chapter 1

“And last, but not least, Whitekit. Until she receives her warrior name, she will be known as Whitepaw. Your mentor will be Brightpelt. I hope Brightpelt will pass down all she knows on to you.” Lynxstar meowed.

“Wow! I’m Brightpelt’s apprentice!” Whitepaw squeaked in excitement.

“Settle down. I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Brightpelt purred. The two then touch noses, like every mentor and apprentice would when the mentor is assigned.

“Meeting dismissed!” Lynxstar meowed, ending the ceremony.

Whitepaw dashed to the apprentices den. Brightpelt put her paw on the black she-cat’s pure white tail, stopping her.

Brightpelt chuckled.

“C’mon, Whitepaw. Let me show ya around.” She meowed to Whitepaw.

“Ok then!” Whitepaw meowed excitedly, knowing that this is only the beginning of her apprenticeship.

The two walked out of camp, into ThunderClan

(Meanwhile)

Teardrop skidded to a halt, a small river in front of her. Raindrop always told her to never hang out by it. She’d crash into a small puddle and never live again. Slowly and carefully she backed away, tripping over the long stretches of grass as she stumbled. She was about three months old, yet she was still small and stubby, her vision only slightly cloudy.

“Teardrop!” Raindrop called from the window. Teardrop spun around to her home and darted over to the window, staggering. She found it very hard to move on such short legs. “I’m almost done with dinner, be home in ten minutes please,” Raindrop smiled at her. Teardrop nodded, turning away and dashing off in a hurry, her stubby legs finally not tripping over each other.

“Wait!” Cried a strange cat from behind the trees. She stumbled to the voice, her eyes wide as curiosity tingled in her chest. The cat’s jaw pulled her close with its bite, there a bronze and copper mixed pelted she-cat with purple-ish blue eyes stood in front of her. The she-cat’s name is Pumaleap.

“I need you for something,” Pumaleap mumbled, her purple blue eyes burning into Teardrop’s. Teardrop tilted her head, sweeping the fallen leaves off the ground with her foot as Pumaleap hesitated.

“You look like Ocelotheart..I- she was just like you, an adventurer but so much more. She enjoyed hunting! She’s always excited for Patrols! She loved adventures! She was my sister! And she died!” Pumaleap sounded desperate to see her again.

“She wouldn't like me doing this. She wanted me to live a normal life. But you, her love for adventure and bravery is in you! I can see it! I can see it all now!” Pumaleap stared into her eyes. Teardrop stepped back, a scared breath escaping her.  This kitty’s insane!

“Come with me,” Pumaleap beckoned and began to walk. Teardrop hesitated before following, her heart pounding fiercely in her throat as fear engulfed her.

They arrived in an forest, the fourtrees of course. She had to find her way back after this! Pumaleap took a step back in front of her, Teardrop looking up gingerly. “We’re starting now,” Pumaleap nodded before leaping into the air, over Teardrop, and crashing to the ground, her paws crushing with the grass beneath them. She had all her claws unsheathed and bent, and getting up she cleared her throat. “Try it.”

For a moment Teardrop stood there confused, shifting awkwardly. “Come on! Do what I did!” Pumaleap yowled. Teardrop nodded, focusing on Pumaleap as she tensed.

What was this feeling? This hunger wasn’t snarling for food, but something very powerful.

Bunching her muscles, she let out an enormous leap, landing askew across Pumaleap and twisting to the ground. She gasped in pain as her side burned, tears in her eyes.

“You have to go straight, and don’t be afraid of flying through the air.” Pumaleap purred, helping her up.

Blurry-eyed, she focused again, backing away. She leapt up again, tossing herself into Pumaleap in a fury of claws and slaps. They both fell awkwardly. Teardrop had landed on Pumaleap while twisting in the air.

Gasping in pain and fear, she stumbled off Pumaleap, her sides heaving as she breathed deeply, wincing.

“You're doing great, just put all your weight into yourself as you land perfectly. Ocelotheart would’ve been impressed,” Pumaleap meowed as she staggered up. “You may rest for now, but visit me soon.”

Pumaleap left the fourtrees, taking a shortcut by carefully walking to thunderpath. On the way, she saw Brightpelt and Whitepaw.

“And this is thunderpath. Be careful, there are monsters that run across. You wouldn’t want to end up like those who perished because of them, don’t ya.” Brightpelt meowed to Whitepaw, showing her thunderpath.

“Who’s this?” Whitepaw questioned to Brightpelt about the bronze-copper mixed pelted cat.

Brightpelt looked at Pumaleap. “That’s Pumaleap. She hasn’t been herself much since her brave sister Ocelotheart died.” She meowed while continuing to look at Pumaleap, who is on her way to ShadowClan.

“Poor Ocelotheart. Her death was a permanent scarring to her family. She’s currently in StarClan with the other StarClan cats.”

Whitepaw looked at Pumaleap in sympathy.

That must be hard to lose a great sister like Ocelotheart. Whitepaw thought to herself.

“C’mon Whitepaw. Let’s hurry back to the clan. It’s gettin’ dark soon.” Brightpaw meowed to Whitepaw.

The two headed back to SkyClan. During the way there, Whitepaw had a thought about Pumaleap when she exited the fourtrees. She head to the apprentices den where her siblings and the other apprentices are already resting.

Whitepaw slumped onto her nest, exhausted, with only one question standing in her mind:

What was Pumaleap doing in there?

#The Quest (Warrior Cats Fanfic) #Fanfic #chapter 1 #Fanfics

[clouffymoved]

Pretty offended by your filtered tag tbh

i literally talk to my best friend about warrior cats like every day even tho I know nothing about it ok <3 i unfiltered it because my dash isn't filled with wc stuff anymore ok are you happy. now my first filtered tag is just ‘body horror’ are you happy.  you did yhis

#nothing wrong with warrior cats btw i love those funky cats <3 #its just my dash was JUST warrior cats for like a month #i was going insane #Anonymous

[phoenixyfriend]

"this isn't quite what I expected" Hinata and [whomever you think would be funniest.]

Arranged Marriage Starters

Hmmmmm okay fuck it we’re doing time-travel.

Warning for... very odd attitudes about ‘breeding’ from clan POV. Like... you know what I mean. (The weird fanon eugenics vibes of the Hyuuga do not gel with me, so I’m just going to treat them like purebred cats.)

Also this did NOT end up ‘whatever is funniest,’ holy smokes.

She is seventeen, unsealed, and... perfect.

She is not a perfect warrior, no. She is not even a perfect lady, or a perfect spy. No, the woman from the future is the perfection of a Main Line child unmarred by the inbreeding they are so careful to avoid but so liable to run into.

The examination of her eyes leaves the medic breathless. Her skin is clearer than they think possible--apparently the formation of a village will lead to better nutrition, better hygiene, better hospitals. Her hair is like silk.

She is as perfect as a doll.

“I am not a broodmare,” she says, when the whispers first start. “And I refuse to allow the barbarism of the Caged Bird Seal to continue.”

“Hold your tongue, girl!”

She lifts her head. She watches.

She is far too calm.

“I promised my cousin, as he died on the battlefield, that I would abolish the seal. I keep my promises, Honorable Elder. It is my nindo.”

A porcelain doll with a backbone of steel.

-----

She was born the heir, and for all that she is an intruder to this era, Hinata is still an heir. The current clan head is young, and has no children. With Hinata unsealed and powerful, young and lithe and useful, she is easily slotted into the role of heir. Her blood befits it, supposedly.

Oh they titter, for sure. Hinata is capable of wearing the clothing of the time, but she prefers things in a cut closer to what she arrived in. She spent years building up her confidence to the point where she could bare her arms. She had months with Ino coaching her into taking pride in her muscles, teaching her to be unashamed of her chest. Hinata refuses to let them take that away from her.

They sneer, some of them, but Hinata is not the child she once was. She fought in the Fourth War. She attacked Pein alone. She has fought a Rinnegan and survived, if only because of the man she loved, and she is no longer the kind of girl that is cowed by an elderly fool with a cutting remark.

But she is still an heir, and not a clan head in her own right. There is no affection to hold back Hyuuga Hideki, not as there was with Hiashi or as there would have been with Hanabi. Hideki does not know her, for all that her genealogy lists him as her great-grandfather, and he thinks little of setting her up for a marriage.

“Am I to know the name of my groom?” Hinata asks.

(She does not worry for leaving the clan. They would not waste a Byakugan as clear as hers. They will bring in new, strong blood, for the so-called purity of Hinata’s line is a scant generation from breaking to something ugly, but they will keep her and her groom within the clan. Her children, her eyes, belong to the clan. They dare not let her leave, and to sell her off is anathema.)

“No,” Hideki tells her. “We haven’t decided.”

“I see.”

-----

There’s a pang in her heart, when she looks at the wedding kimono. She’d hoped for love, before. She’d hoped for Naruto’s hand in hers, or if he did not want her, to find and grow a relationship with another. She’d have been able to have her pick of the pack, so to speak.

Perfect, unmarred heiress.

(What a disgusting role, truly.)

Several branch members help her into the layers and layers of formal dress. They comb her hair into too-complex twists and paint her face in ways that feel old and unpleasant.

(Tradition is as tradition does, but to be nearly a century in the past is stifling.)

Hinata is not a broodmare, and she has been clear on such a point, but she is still a valuable piece on the board that the clan has received without expectation. They use her as they use anyone. She is here to battle on the field, if necessary, but she is far more vital in securing an alliance. Principled, they call her. Headstrong for ideals that barely exist yet, ideals that won’t be commonplace for decades yet.

“Silk hiding steel,” one elderly branch woman says, approval in her eyes and on her tongue. “I hope they keep you.”

Hinata never wanted to be clan head, but there is no Hanabi here to take up Neji’s cause and drive it to completion. There are no others willing to dedicate themselves to abolishing this wretched seal, and so it falls to Hinata. She will not fail.

Her groom makes such a thing more than feasible.

-----

The wedding is traditional, rigid, and ultimately successful. Hinata is ‘hitched,’ as Kiba might have said, and she keeps her face pleasantly disinterested for the whole of it. The party afterwards is livelier, but only because of the clan she has tied herself to.

They retire soon enough. The marriage is not complete, after all.

“I don’t suppose the Hyuuga are one of the clans willing to take a person’s word for consummation,” her new husband says.

“There are ways of checking after the fact,” she says. She passes a hand over the wall, and the designs painted into the wood glow faintly. “But for the act itself, we have privacy.”

She is eighteen, almost nineteen. She is newly wedded to a man who is a stranger in all but name, and she plans to change history every bit as much as he does.

He still grimaces. “You are... a bit young.”

“You flatter me,” she says. “But I am of an age to be wed, and so of an age to engage in... more carnal matters.”

This does not soothe him. “If you are to beget a child this young... it’s old enough that you’d avoid the worst of the consequences, but the risk is still there. Your body is still changing, as likely as not.”

She cannot help it. She laughs. “I’ve no need to secure a pregnancy as of yet, Honored Husband. While the contract may have stated we consummate immediately, my own clan’s elders have chosen to look the other way if we take a few years to solidify the alliance with a child.”

He’s less than five years older than her, and walks as though he expects and even asks to carry the weight of the world on his own two shoulders. The relief that breaks across his face is almost childlike in its openness.

“I was not informed,” he says. “I am glad to hear it.”

Hinata ducks her head and smiles. “Your concern for me is appreciated. I have some small medical training of my own, and can prevent a pregnancy with relatively little ease until the village your brother spoke of is formed. They would not want to waste a kunoichi with battlefield experience, after all.”

He nods. He hesitates. He asks, nonetheless, “Are you truly so firm in your belief of such? They said you supported the concept of the village, but to see you speak of it so confidently is a surprise.”

Hinata watches him for a moment, and then stands and moves to the armoire. She has very few things left from the future she cannot return to, but there are two she has kept for this situation.

She returns to her husband with her forehead protector in one hand, a ragged bingo book in the other, and a scroll tucked into her obi.

He looks them over. He turns the pages with a crease in his brow, feels at the woven mesh and linen the metal is riveted to. He looks up and asks, “How many decades?”

“Hideki-sama would have been my grandfather. However, as things stand, that is no longer assured,” she says. “You were some fifty years dead when I was sent back in time.”

“I see,” he says, and looks back down. “There are not many Senju or Uchiha in this booklet. Did they not defect at high rates, or...”

“Both clans were down to a single surviving member by the time I was seventeen,” Hinata tells him. “The Uzumaki down to two.”

“So the village system--”

“Was not at fault,” Hinata says. He looks up sharply, and she smiles. “I can tell you how it all happened, and what can be done to prevent it, but it will not be easy.”

“Such things never are,” he says. He looks back down at the bingo book, frowning. “You choose to help save my clan, after I have married into yours. I expect you hope for some aid in return?”

“Oh, to prevent the destruction the Senju and Uchiha is to prevent the end of the world,” she says. “I would do this even if it wasn’t, but as it stands, there is indeed something I will ask you to help with.”

“Something equal to preventing the end of the world?” he asks, and she thinks he may be trying to add a dash of humor to the heavy conversation. She appreciates the attempt, for all that it fails.

“It is to me,” she says instead, and pulls the scroll from her obi. “You are a fuuinjutsu master, are you not?”

“My sister-in-law is better,” he says. “But yes, I’m nearing such a level.”

Hinata nods. “The history books said as much.”

He eyes her for a moment, brows narrowed, and then unfurls the scroll.

She waits.

It doesn’t take long for him to inhale sharply. “This is barbaric.”

“Yes, I agree,” she says, calm and pleasant. “I’m not supposed to be showing you this. I hope you understand.”

He looks at her. “You want me to change it?”

“Removal first,” she says. “We need a substitute ready when we do so, to prevent at least one angle of argument. A seal that still destroys the eyes at death, but without the... more unpleasant aspects.”

“You want me to help you stage a coup in your own clan.”

“Not a coup. If Hideki is willing to allow for the changes to the seal, then I am uninterested in replacing him. I have no great dreams of leadership, Honored Husband. I simply wish to free my family of their bonds.”

“And to help me save my clan.”

“By saving the world, yes.” She smiles at him. “I’ll save your clan if you save mine?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I can’t... well. This isn’t quite what I expected.”

“Of that, I’m sure.”

"I agree to your terms,” he says. “Also... while I am like to officially outrank you on the battlefield and in the village that will be, I was under the impression that, within the confines of the Hyuuga compound, you outrank me, and outside of it, we are equals.”

“That is correct.”

“In that regard, please stop addressing me as ‘Honored Husband,’” he says. “It is surprisingly uncomfortable to hear.”

Hinata can’t help but laugh at him again. “Of course. Shall I call you Tobirama-kun instead, then?”

“Am I to address you as ‘Hinata-chan?’” He asks, a tad too dry. “Or simply dear?”

“Darling.”

“Sweetheart.”

“Beloved.”

“I’m not one for pet names.”

“What a shame. I am.”

Yes. She rather thinks this will turn out splendidly. She may not have the true love of her dreams, but this... this will work.

She’ll make sure of it.

#Hyuuga Hinata #Hinata #Senju Tobirama #Tobirama #Hinata Hyuuga #Naruto #time travel #arranged marriage #phoenix answers memes #TobiHina #lexlokiy #phoenix posts #pregnancy mention

[yarrowleef]

Daffodil, Laurel, Lily, Sunflower, Violet, and Wisteria? Also Begonia but I'd like to know your favorites of the old covers and the newer/reprint covers. And the Russian Warrior Cat covers too! Some of their art is quite pretty.

laurel, violet and sunflower answered previously

Daffodil: When did you first start reading the series?

Start of third grade when I was 8 years old, which I believe was 2007!!  .......so like literally most of my life I have given to these cursed cat books. I remember The Sight was the most recent release. It was the first real book series I ever read, and I think I went through the first 2 series within a couple months.

Prior to that I just read stand-alone books and I only read because I wanted to win “accelerated reader” points....i couldn’t do sports, so reading was the only thing I could win at AND I DID WIN. but warriors was the first thing I read that I was actually like...into. and realized I could read for reasons OTHER then winning the most points.

Lily: If your five favorite characters were foods, what would they be?

asdfghgfdxs I honestly have no idea how to answer this question, in part because I don’t think I even have 5 favorite characters. I suppose Firestar is doritos out of obligation. What else can he be?? I mean ok flaming hot cheetos maybe seems more fitting on the surface because ~flame-y~ but lets be honest, Firestar is a bit too bland a character to be spicy. He is one of my favorites for nostalgia sake, I mean it’s Firestar, how can I not be fond of him?

I also have a soft spot for Scourge just because of the sheer ridiculous audacity of him. I wish he’d come back as an evil ghost. Anyway, when I was about 9 and going through my brief (incredibly unfortunate) twilight phase (I was just jumping on the popularity bandwagon tbh) I went to Hot Topic right before one of the movie premieres and they had this...edible bag of blood? it wasn’t actual blood obviously, but I remember it was advertised as being really high in iron to mimic blood, but it was really this sickly sweet mystery juice packaged inside of a fake hospital blood bag. I of course bought it because I went through my edgy phase early, and for some reason thought it would look cool to pretend I was drinking blood. It was the most disgusting liquid i have ever consumed but hey it did also have the unpleasant metallic tang of blood because I guess they were going for authenticity over edibility, so it’s not like I didn’t get what I paid for (or rather what my mom paid for, because i was 9)

Anyway, Scourge is that. He’s awful fake blood juice from the Hot Topic in the mall.

 That's all I got.

Wisteria: Are you looking forward to the Warriors movie?

YES ABSOLUTLEY!!

don't get me wrong, I fully expect it to be terrible. Embarrassing even. I expect they will try to change it for a wider audience appeal, and of course it will end up bad, BUT IT WILL BE SO FUNNY!! I have this inescapable morbid curiosity about it, like I really want to see what they try to do. Like watching a train crash. I can't help it.

Warriors is a silly series. I have a feeling this is why a movie hasn't been made yet, even I would have no idea who to market it for. Yes it's violent and touches on very dark topics, but the fact that its about cute little cats with very dumb names coupled with those dark topics in a way makes it look even MORE silly. I don’t think Warriors will ever have wide appeal outside of its fanbase, the concept looks too ridiculous if you’re not someone already into animal xenofiction like this, but a movie is inevitably going to try to have wider appeal anyway because that's what movie studios feel they need to do. They will either water it down, or worse, try to go a more family friendly comedy route since that’s how general audiences are used to seeing animated talking animals and they think that's the only “”safe”” way to market an animal movie, which will 100% ruin it either way. The second one is more likely, I mean why else do you think they hired the guys who wrote kung fu panda, and the recent alvin and the chipmunks and Spongebob movies to make the script?? [no shade to kung-fu panda, it’s good in it’s own way, but it is not the same vibe as warrior cats at all]. For me, this is simultaneously the absolute best and the absolute worse scenario, because like, it’s horrible, its an insult to everything I love about the warriors world, i have surreal nightmares about it, but it’s so horrible it f*cking hilarious ya know? how can you not be a little curious to watch that train crash (and the outraged reaction posts that will inevitably follow)????

A warriors movie will be bad, I can't see any way that it won't be bad, and honestly? I think that's ok. I don't need a good movie, I simply need a good laugh, and then I'll go back to watching fan animations which will always be more interesting anyway because they don't feel the need to have ~mass appeal~

Listen, we don't actually need a good official adaptation. In some ways, a good adaptation might be bad for the fandom. The fandom is cool because of how wildly different and creative it is, the series is so bare bones with no consistent official art that people can go nuts with it. I worry on the off chance we get a really good adaptation, it might take over the books. People might be less likely to draw/create with their own wild bonkers interpretations of canon in favor of sticking closer to what the official adaptation presented us with, and idk if I want that. I also def don't want to deal with searching "warrior cats" for the rest of my life to only bring up gifs/discussions of the movie/tv show, rendering material and fan creations for the books almost impossible to find. This is something i've suffered with when other books i like get popular adaptations, where as series with bad adaptations (like percy jackson) I have less trouble finding content about the books. 

Begonia: Which book cover is your favorite?

So of the old covers I admit i have a soft spot for the darkest hour, it was my favorite as a kid and I know I tried to redraw it several times. Warrior covers have a tendency to blend together, there’s only so many ways to draw mysterious cats fighting, but I think this cover is one of the most memorable for me, if only for the center art (shout out to the old Fire and Ice cover though, I also really like the center art on that. I wish the box had kept being used for more than just a single cat face in the later series)

but now that i’ve gone and looked, I really really like the full cover art for Tallstar’s Revenge, the colors just look super nice and match his eyes and everything. Tallstar having a fun and more unique looking design gives it extra points. Maybe I just like warm tones idk. And shout out to Wayne for also imagining the moor as a golden-brown field even though it’s probably supposed to be green.

out of the new covers, I like the vibe of Dark River, it just looks spooky and mysterious......and I think this artists cats look better from the side, they are always a little crooked from the front (honorable mention to Place of No Stars cover, I really like the colors and the ominous vibe, it definitely had an impact when I first saw that cover, I just don’t love the look of the cats faces blown up close from the front. The more I look at it the more off it becomes, but the colors are cool)

and I definitely agree the Russian warrior cats art has a very charming look to it, I like seeing it whenever it comes across my dash, but unfortunately I’m having trouble finding a catalogue of it to look at so I can’t pick a favorite

#warrior cats #ask #yarrow speaks #ask game #LMAO typed out half a response then put it in my drafts and forgot for 4 days #LONG POST

[goose-books]

goose-books productions: a 2020 review

view the image in higher quality here! (open the image in a new tab to zoom in.) thank you to my dearest @yvesdot for the template

transcripts and month-by-month details under the cut! for reference, you can find my projects here :-) overall, new and old followers, thank you for another good year over here! [holds your hand] [holds your hand] [holds your hand] [holds your h

january

i spent late 2019-early 2020 working on 2019’s nano project, quark, aka the speculative fiction thing about new york city and prophets and dissections of the chosen one trope and gay people. quark is my second-oldest project (five years!), but it’s also probably the most ambitious, so it’s been... difficult to wrangle into place, and i didn’t end up finishing a first draft. oh, well.

enjoy a snippet that is devastatingly emblematic of everything about quark. the tone. the homoerotic tension. the ensemble cast all talking over each other. the fact that caelum has spent pretty much this entire scene crying. fun autopsy report meeting.

Marble stares at the notebook in Shade’s hands. Or maybe he’s staring at Shade’s hands. Dawn feels a little voyeuristic, so she does what she does and says a dumb and unrelated thing: “Augustus, I think this pizza-on-the-floor thing is hurting my ass.”

Augustus flutters his hands. “Sometimes nonconformity is painful.”

“At least we’re originals,” Caelum mumbles into his sleeve.

“Exactly,” Augustus says.

“True originality doesn’t exist,” Marble says.

“Oh,” Shade deadpans, “it’s going to be a fun autopsy report meeting.”

It isn’t.

february

in january i stressed myself out trying to make the plot of quark work. so in february, i decided to take some time and write something Entirely For Fun. like, entirely for fun, no rules. and. my god. how do i explain the project i started calling “third eye for the bad guy.”

it was an unholy mashup of many of my past hyperfixations, including the gone series, a tale of two cities, warrior cats, and the left hand of darkness. one of the characters was a canon scalie and one was a canon fictionkinnie. it centered around a polycule of wannabe-evil-overlord high schoolers. i only wrote like three chapters but i was lost in the sauce for all of february and then i just… like… wiped it from my mind and moved on? somehow??? one character was a werewolf and that literally wasn’t relevant at ALL

I.

Someone was going to die on these steps.

This had been Ivy Lee Palomo’s thought last year during the all-school photo, and it rose in her mind again now. The one hundred marble stairs leading up to the great double doors of Saint Constantine Academy were the school’s pride and glory, steep as the mountain, sharp as the blade under Ivy Lee’s skirt. With the cutting wind and snow glazing the stone more often than not, with the freshmen wild and wired on their first day of their first year, it was really only a matter of time before someone slipped and cracked their fucking head open.

It wasn’t going to be her. Not when she had Doc Martens and reflexes like an electric coil. Still. Ivy Lee didn’t want to watch someone die. She didn’t get along with dead people.

march

in march, i got back to the project i’d started in 2019 - AMT, my podcast! it’s a shakespeare retelling set in a modern high school; this excerpt is funnier and also more unnerving in context. (double, double, toil and trouble...)

INDRAJIT: What the hell are you doing?

[PAUSE.]

DEE (like she’s lying): Making pasta.

[ALL THREE OF THEM LAUGH.]

NONA: That’s right.

MORA: We have the keys to Mab’s office.

DEE: We’re using her stove.

NONA: To make pasta.

DEE: Do you want some?

[A TENSE PAUSE.]

INDRAJIT: No.

april

and darkling rears its head! all of my other projects have existed for at least a year; darkling (specfic king lear retelling) is... special. it was conceived in april, when i started hyperfixating on king lear, and i still managed to write an absolutely ridiculous amount of content for it. it was like the power of hyperfixation let me speedrun the entire process. which. okay.

iv: control

They say Cressida Stayer was nine years old when she turned her hair to gold. They laid her down in bed blonde, and the next morning, the waves cascading down her shoulders were solid metal, glinting harshly in the sunlight, weighing her down, creating that odd head-cocked expression she still wears now. Nine years old. Two or three years before most people develop enough magic skills to dye a single curl. Much less transfigure their hair into precious metal.

People also say Leovald Stayer’s immediate reaction was to hack it off her head and melt it down for cash. But generally they say that part a lot quieter.

may

in may i wrote AMT episode 15, by which i mean that in may there was a day when i sat in my room with the door shut for literally five straight hours listening to the same three songs on loop as i wrote the climax of one of the plotlines of AMT. so. that sure was… a day.

ISAAC: Do you want… do you want someone to drive you home? Hawk, you’re worrying me -

HAWK (almost cutting him off): Don’t. Don’t say that. I’m here to help. With your… thing.

ISAAC (quietly): I… don’t know if you should be here to see this.

HAWK (a little louder, more audibly upset): Well - what else am I going to do? Go home and - and have my dads talk at me and - and not be able to answer them? Because I can’t? I can’t. I don’t know what to say.

[PAUSE.]

ISAAC (V.O.): I wonder if this is what he feels like, on the outside, looking in at me. Watching someone else hurting. Helpless and afraid.

He still fits perfectly in my arms. I rest my chin on top of his head and pull him close to me, like I can stop him from shaking, like I can stop anything from happening the way I know it’s going to. I bury my face in his hair. He smells so familiar. He’s so warm.

God, Hawk. I love you so much. You shouldn’t be here to see this. Something bad’s gonna happen. And you’re not the kind of person who belongs in a tragedy.

june

okay, honestly, i should talk about “night shift” here, because in june i wrote a whole short story in one night (and then foamed over it for a week), but i am still in the process of submitting it places! so i am terrified to put even a sentence of it online. instead: the other thing i did this month was to finish AMT! (sixteen episodes and somewhere around 175k, iirc, but don’t quote me.) these lines are the opener to the final episode!

RAHMA (V.O.): The combined series of sophomore year disasters stretched through November. It’s June now. It’s taken me… a long time to get this all put together. I was going to make a vlog about it, initially - well, calling it a vlog sounds frivolous. I was going to make a video recounting the whole deal. All of it. From when I kissed Avery Fairchilde to the very last night. I scripted dozens of drafts; I put together dozens of bullet-pointed lists of what to cover… and it was never enough. Because Avery and I weren’t the only ones involved. Even if I was only focused on the two of us, it wasn’t just the two of us.

So… I gathered up everyone else. The whole town of Ellisburg is still talking about the week the town went crazy, but it wasn’t just a week. There was a lot leading up to it. And I think if anyone’s going to talk about it, it should be us. The people who lived it. So here we are. The most ambitious Rahma Ashiq production of all time - at least so far.

july

every july i pause whatever else i’m doing to celebrate the birthday of aurum & argentate, twins from my oldest and dearest WIP The Mortal Realm. july fifteenth! mark your calendars. they’re princes, though argentate would really rather not be; you can read the full birthday piece here.

“Do you… plan to get dressed?” A bit of the usual humor crept back into Aurum’s voice. “Although if you want to speak to the kingdom in your underthings, by all means, you have my full support.”

Argentate scrubbed at his face. He wasn’t dressed, no, but the usual malaise hung over his shoulders like a cloak. Guilt. Nerves. The sick sense that he hadn’t done something he was supposed to. The numb knowledge that it was too late to change a thing.

“I meant to,” he said. “Get dressed, I mean.” The rest went unsaid: I have just been sitting here. On the floor. Thinking about how I should get dressed.

“Ah,” Aurum said, extending his hand. “The traditional route. We’ll save the nude speeches for the future, then.”

Argentate took his hand, stumbling a little as Aurum pulled him to his feet. He steadied himself on the closest wall, taking a few deep breaths. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. His hands found their way to the cross, again and again.

august

this summer, i wrote an entire draft of Valentine Van Velt is Dead, AKA “holden caulfield goes to exposure therapy,” AKA the weird little personal side project i keep tucked into my coat. interesting features include second-person narration from a narrator who doesn’t like the main character all that much. so reading it is kind of like the book wants to kill you? with an added dash of general melancholy.

You used to live here. That’s the thing that’s got you feeling so off.

You didn’t recognize your old house. I mean, you kind of did. You remembered that the road was on a hill. That hill felt like a goddamn forty-five degree angle when you were a kid. But if you didn’t have the address written down you wouldn’t have known it at all. It would have been just another little suburban house in rows of perfect little towns that make your skin crawl.

So now you’re in this diner looking out a gross smudgy window trying to block out the elevator music pumping through the speakers in the ceiling or whatever. I don’t know how speakers work. You’re trying to tune that shit out. The waitress comes over and catches you by surprise so you just point at some coffee thing on the menu so she’ll go away. For the record: you don’t drink coffee.

There’s a public library across the street. A little square building. You probably used to go there. The lady comes over and thunks your coffee on the table and gives you a kind of look, like she wants to know what in the goddamn hell you think you’re doing here and not at school. You sip your coffee and look out the window until she leaves you alone again. And then you spit it back into the cup because, for the record: you don’t drink coffee.

september

i spent september and october prepping for nano, so i was mostly working on darkling...

It’s late spring; still, at this time of night, on a rooftop, there’s a chill. The wind plays with the end of Ruby’s coat, with her hair. She hands the bottle off to Jasper, stares up at the fogged-over sky, wishes she were lying in Dany’s arms in Dany’s bed instead of here. Wishes, even, that Dany were the one on the roof with her. At least then they’d be cold together. At least then she wouldn’t have to imagine what Dany would say; she could just listen, and watch Dany’s flashing smile and her flinty eyes.

(She cuddles. This is another thing Dany does that Dany probably shouldn’t do, based on everything about Dany; it’s not like rattlesnakes cuddle. But Dany likes to nuzzle into Ruby’s side and rest her head on Ruby’s collarbones and toss an arm over Ruby’s chest, and hold her down like she’s worried she’ll float off somewhere. She’ll card her fingers through Ruby’s hair and hum. Even though they could get caught, even though she’s probably got better places to be - Dany cuddles.)

Ruby imagines it, momentarily, both of them on the roof together, sprawled like horrifyingly beautiful gargoyles, sharp teeth flashing, blood running hot. Up here - it’d be like they ruled the world.

But whatever. Jasper’s fun. He’s hot. He’s got a sharp tongue in a lot more ways than one. And she likes when he lets the mask down. She likes seeing the soft bits underneath. She wants to sink her teeth and nails into them so hard she draws blood. Masks don’t bleed. Ruby would know; that’s why she is what she is.

october

...though i was also in creative writing class in school, and thus ended up writing a bunch of poems of varying quality (my teacher had a real thing for poetry) and also one darklingverse short story where rory and cressida hold hands! which you can find here.

Lorelai Rory Flowers is afraid of thunder.

This is a bit of an embarrassing thing to admit, as they’re seventeen (“at least seventeen,” they like to tell people, “maybe two hundred, who’s to say?”) and generally wise beyond their years, or whatever it is that adults say about kids with too much psychological baggage. Being afraid of thunder is not a very wise-beyond-one’s-years trait. And yet the state of affairs remains: loud noises make Rory want to melt into the earth. Back when they still went to school, even the fire alarm sent them scuttling under their desk to hide.

Right now, in the elevator, all they can do is shrink into their sweater.

They haven’t let go of Cressida’s hand yet.

november

and then november of course was nano which was an adventure all the way through. (opening tumblr on the fifth day of nano to find out about d*stiel... was something.)

“Apologize to me. Or get out of my house.”

Gracen’s voice is very, very low. For a moment she thinks he hasn’t heard her at all. Then he spins, eyes blazing. “What did you say?”

Gracen watches her own chest heave. She pushes herself up off the desk, stands with the effort of pushing a mountain off of her back. Leovald is six-foot-four. Gracen is six-foot-two. In her heels, in the heels she must wear to be a professional woman, to be a lady - they are the same height.

Gracen wipes her nose. When she lowers her arm, there’s a streak of blood across the back of her hand. Fire shivers in her chest; her heart rings in her ears; her voice could cut steel.

“I said,” she says, low, slow, volume building, “apologize to me. Or get. Out. Of. My. House.”

december

and finally, the poem i posted this year! it’s called the beast sonnet, and you can find it in its own post over here (with commentary! how sexy.)

i kill the beast and drop down to my knees, my blade stained dark with blood of stygian hue, and for a moment these scarred hands shake free, and hold a world unfurled for me anew. but once-mourned victims, victors, vices find; fear winged me; now its absence strips me bare. my sword now dulls, my legs, my voice, my mind; the beast, pried from my throat, leaves no skill there. and still i hear it laugh, O DEVOTEE— O CHILD DEAR, NO GLORY WITHOUT ME.

i was quite productive this year; i have to think it was because i was avoiding things... the peak of my productivity happened over the summer and in november, AKA, college app hell. (almost done with the last applications! pray for me.)

a general breakdown of what occupied me this year:

(no, i don’t know why the “various other things” category ended up so large... i blame all the one-off projects i wrote a single page for, and also whatever the fuck happened in february. yes, i do know why it looks hideous; it’s because each of my WIPs has a theme color

thank you once again for spending some time at goose-books dot gov this year! what to expect for next year: well, i very much hope i can produce AMT... also hoping to get darkling ready for beta readers, so keep your eyes out!

#max.txt #and that's a wrap!!! what a goddamn year. #okay. breath in. tags: #quark tag #third eye tag #(i think there are like. two posts in that one?) #amt tag #darkling tag #tmr tag #vvvid tag #wow that was a lot of text. if you read all this... [blows you a kiss] thank you! #max actually writes #year in review

[enithinggoes]

The witch’s teachings, lesson 4: Power and its price

Lyssa’s presence changed our day-to-day slightly, about one hour before meals the witch would ask one of us to do chores such as looking for food(I was more adept at gathering, roots and fruit, while Lyssa had an easier time hunting), and she would use the time to teach the other one.

What made me curious was that from what I’d seen, we were not being taught the same things, while I had by this point been Morgana’s apprentice for a few months and she’d taught me next to nothing about combat, though she’d given me a knife, mostly for cutting ingredients, I had yet to touch a sword. Meanwhile Lyssa was already about as good of a swordsman as any from my home town, though she’d prefered to use two shortswords instead of the witch’s one.

When asked about this during one of my own lessons, My master, her unequivocal tone giving an impression closer to a consultation with an ancient goddess than a questioning of a human teacher, told me “When you asked me to take you on, did you ask for my power? Was your wish to match me as a fighter, or as a scholar? What you begged me for was wisdom, so that’s what I am attempting to give you, knowledge of the properties of all sorts of natural and supernatural, one day you shall be able to see as deeply or more than I am into the forces most struggle to even comprehend. However, I am myself a multi-faceted creature, and what Lyssa needs from me isn’t the knowledge you crave, that won’t help her protect herself from greed, hate and weapons from people whose reason for attacking her can’t be circumvented without fighting back. Right now, she needs to become a warrior, she wants to become a guardian, so her mastery of the blade is more important than that over the land. Of course I want to have you know how to defend yourself and her know how to use subtler methods than swordfighting, but it is better to prioritize.”

While I took in her explanation, her expression softened as she sat down close to the fire and ushered me to do the same. She took a deep breath, then spoke once more “It is good that you asked me that, it reminded me of something I feel I should tell you, and I’ll explain later why I do not plan on doing the same for Lyssa yet,” she stared into the flames, “It’s about how I got these hands, and the power they hold.”

“I grew up in the village of Krymmen, a place that no longer exists, outside of the reach of the duke that owns this tenure, I do not know how  much you’ve heard about him, maybe less than I, since I assume his rule is all you’ve known, but the common way of doing things here and now hasn’t always existed. Where I was born there was no use for silver and gold except for fighting werewolves and making accessories, there was enough food and housing for all of us and all who contributed to the community had access to it. My function, much as it is now, was to protect people from supernatural threats and their effects on body and mind.”

“One day, emissaries from “duke Louis of Drakenguard”  appeared, we hosted our visitors well, interested in what knowledge they could have to share with us. But they were measuring us up, learning about our defenses and armed forces, making sure they could easily destroy us. They came back, with numbers and weapons, an emergency exodus was declared. Me and my comrades stayed behind to hold them back, we were fierce fighters, but there were too many of them, we drove them back, just barely, but I was the only survivor, and it would not be long before they caught up with the civilians after the next wave was done with me.

“So I got desperate,” she clenched her fist, “There was a legend in Krymmen, about a cave from which none who ventured returned, the stories told of a slumbering dragon, at least as large as an elephant and as smart as a person, I headed to the cave, planning to beg the beast to protect the people who had coexisted with it for all of our centuries long history.

“Once I arrived, I was awed by the creature’s bright red scales, gigantic wings and terrifying maw. However its eyes surprised me most of all, they were orange and slitted like those of a crocodile, but they regarded me  with such superiority, curious interest at best, like how a man may look at a cat. It gave me time to say my piece, but seemed to disregard it entirely, instead lazily turning to my sword and offering it’s own proposal. It’s deep grumble echoing through the cave’s chambers.

“I have no intention of concerning myself with the squabbles between you pitiful creatures. Still, I can feel some fire within you, if you wish for my assistance, prove to me you are worthy of my time,” it stood from the pile of bone and discarded armor where it sat, “If you are capable of landing a single blow upon my flesh, I shall grant you a morsel of my power.”

“For many moments it was all I could do to stand frozen still, its glare made it clear that the moment I moved forward, that could be the end of my life, still it was my only chance to protect the Krymmen people, and if my comrades could give their life for that before, so could I now. I started to dash forward, but the dragon’s claw was even faster than I could expect, I did my best to deflect it with my blade, but the force from the clash still sent me rolling over the ground. The dragon simply raised its head and looked down on me as I scrambled back onto my feet, as if waiting for me to continue the challenge it had issued. I felt as if it had held back on the last strike, trying to bring the most out of me, and to be honest, it made me furious, I was determined to prove the power of humanity.

“I sprinted forward, goading it into striking before quickly stepping back, then dashing ahead once more, It’s next attack I evaded by rolling behind a rock, using it for cover by crouching. The beast lowered its head, and I beheld it open it’s enormous jaws and a bright orange flame gather inside it, too wide to dodge to the side and too powerful for my stone cover to protect me. In a final desperate gambit I climbed onto the rock and, as it approached to launch its attack. I lept towards it, plunging my blade onto its snout with a fierce battlecry.

  “The sword pierced only a few centimeters through  my foe’s scales, but it ceased its fire breathing, and for a few instants, we were both so still we could only hear the dimm whistle of the wind through the cave. I saw the dragon stare towards me with something entirely foreign in its eyes, recognition, perhaps even respect. It lowered me gently to the floor, backing away as I pulled my blade from its snout.

“Very well,”said the dragon, “you’ve proved yourself tenacious and brave beyond any human I’ve seen before. I shall offer you a magnanimous offer, accept the pact, and you will be given power over the most powerful element in creation. The flames that herald both oblivion and rebirth, there is but one condition.

“Though after such an arduous trial almost nothing could deter me from accepting, I still asked “What is the condition?”

“The dragon explained, “You will yourself become forever bound to the changing winds and the flicker of the flames. If you ever fall idle, without a mission or destination, the very powers you will be given shall turn agains you, destroying your body”

“I nodded, accepting these terms, “Very well,” spoke the dragon, “extend your arms, and the pact will be sealed,” I did as I was told, and did not back down, even when the beast opened its maw wide, waiting for a moment, as if precisely measuring  its position. Before snapping its jaws closed in but a split second. I felt immense pain, like my arms had been cut in half, before a powerful burning sensation accompanied by the same orange light Inside the dragon’s mouth I’d seen before. I clenched my teeth so as not to scream, and in a few seconds, the dragon released my arms, satisfied, revealing that, from the forearm down, my arms were now as black and hard as coal, and I could feel heat like never before emanating from them.

“You’ve risen closer to a dragon than most could ever hope, the last thing I have to give you is my name. Names have power, child, so when you wish to use your new power, remember the name Gorchfygwr and all flames shall obey you.” The dragon explained.

The witch clapped her hands and turned to me. “And that’s how I got these hands, I apologize for not telling you sooner, but I needed to be sure to not give information about the source of my power to someone who would get themselves killed trying to obtain them, or worse, who would be able to gain this sort of power and use it for evil. In time I learned more about pacts like these, they are the main way for humans to obtain power beyond our physical limitations, but, and you may consider this your fourth lesson, power always has a price, and with time I learned the dragon had truly been relatively generous with mine, likely because he had gotten his entertainment out of testing me first. Some creatures, like demons and fae may cause their lords to lose their minds or commit atrocities they could never imagine.”

I nodded in agreement. “I understand. There are some questions I wish to ask, if you’ll pardon my curiosity, What did you do after sealing your pact? Did you face the duke’s armies once again? And why did you not want Lyssa to know this story?” for all that her fierceness had unnerved me initialy, my “colleague” did certainly seem to have good motives, more surprisingly, she was gentler than I’d imagined, never once commenting on my obvious lack of strenght when compared to her and offering to guard me from possible dangerous animals when searching for food.

Morgana sighed and turned back towards the fire. “I killed them, I went back into my ruined village and I slaughtered wave after wave of those soldiers until the futility of expecting them to stop coming solidified in my mind. By now there was no way they’d catch up to what remained of my people, there was no longer any reason for fighting. I felt so purposeless I just… wandered. Eventually I learned that I could use the skills from my old profession to earn a living and help people still, and memorized the optimal routes I could use to travel from town to town.”

She continued, her head hung low, betraying a fatigue I hadn’t before seen. “I’ve been doing this for years, familiar, long enough to obtain a large arsenal of magic not as powerful as what I received from the pact, that’s how I could make you my familiar. In some way I feel I’ve been delaying an inevitable direct conflict with the duke, I mean, look at Lyssa! aren’t I one of the only people with a chance to stop this for good? As for why I’ve avoided informing Lyssa of the source of my flames, I have no doubt her reasons for fighting are good, but with her current fervor, I fear she may seek out a patron before she’s ready and put herself and others in danger, although I have a feeling she may inevitably attract the interest of one by living the eventful life she is currently seeking. It is a difficult balance I am attempting to strike, too soon and her haste may be her doom, too late and she won’t be aware of the consequences when she receives an offer.”

I was a bit hesitant to question my master’s judgement, but still I couldn’t help but ask “don’t you feel you should put a little more trust in her prudence?”

She turned to me and smiled. “That may be so, still It’s best to be cautious. Thank you for telling me this. It’s part of a familiar’s function to council the witch in times of decision. Now scram, you, I see Lyssa coming back and we’re gonna need some fresh water from that creek to cook the hares she brought,” she waved me away gently.

As I walked away, Lyssa greeted me, her muscles had been steadily growing more defined as she’d been training for combat, I also noticed she’d been binding her breasts recently and respected her commitment to agility. “Hey… cat, can I call you cat?” she asked, a bit embarassed, to which I smiled and nodded in agreement, “alright, cat, did Morgana say anything about me? I haven’t exactly been apprentice to a witch before, and she did tell me a familiar is something different, but you’re my best point of  comparison and I’d like to know if I’ve been doing well.”She seemed excited to compare our experiences, and I felt a pang of guilt about witholding some information from her.

“Don’t worry, she’s very impressed with your growth, thinks you’ll soon be a match for her at this rate, though your parry could use some work.” I answered, and it was true, despite me omitting the witch’s concerns about her impetuosity. “Now get going, master’s waiting for you and she doesn’t like to wait. .” I told her, continuing my towards the creek.

“You too.” She said, and I could tell my answer had made her happy.

#the witch's teachings #fantasy #magic #original writing #chapter #dragon #original work #original story #enni

[eaffwesf]

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The Mandalorian... In Lego form

What can I add to the praise about the Disney Plus series, The Mandalorian, that has not already been said?

Yes, it is really very good, I was captivated within the first minute and was heart broken during the third episode, entitled The Sin, when the Mandalorian handed over the child to the Imperial officer, played so beautifully by Werner Herzog. Of them all, it is probably episodes three and four that are my favourites, showing the more gentle side to the character. But let us be honest, when choosing favourite episodes of this series, we the viewer have been rather spoilt because there is not a dud among them. Not even the sixth episode, which was a heist story and could easily have been done rather badly, but wasn’t and even included a fabulously dry Dave Filoni cameo as a New Republic pilot. No, not a single missed beat, bad line or failed joke throughout series one.

This is not to say that it does not have its cold brutal moments though, the Quarren being bisected in the first episode was utterly shocking, you even hear his legs heit the floor! Encasing the good natured Mythol in carbonite was really mean. Yet, they saved the humour of child abuse right up until the end and the speeder scouts indifference in violently handling the child. These moments of suffering are balanced so perfectly with real heart and leave a lump in the throat, even when dealing with an assassin droid walking into a lava flow. Terminator eat your heart out!

So, it must be time to combine some of the biggest loves of my rather childish, adult life into one hobby, namely my love of Star Wars and my love of Lego. With every new franchise released under the Star Wars banner, Lego get good dibs on making tie in sets. With the release of the Mandalorian, the Lego sets have been exceptional and if you have not yet seen them, you should go and have a look at the Brickset page.

The first set, number 75254 or AT-ST Raider is a glorious reworking of the beloved Imperial walker, as seen during the Battle of Endor, but here it comes with loose wiring and scratched paint. The colours are indicative of rust, repainting of old worn out parts and some battle damage, all achieved with coloured bricks and several stickers. The effect is really very pleasing and the walker stands at just over twenty five centimetres tall. All that it is missing is the red glow in the cocpit. The minfigs that come with this set just wonderful. Cara Dune, played so effortlessly well by Gina Carono in the show, is a really lovely minifig, although having a globally available minifig of your character must be exciting even for a movie star. Along with the walker come two raider pilots and then even Mando himself, in his dirty and mismatched armour, which is a little odd. By this point in the show, when he meets and briefly fights with Cara Dune, he already has his new Beskar cuirass of armour, complete in shining silver. So one has to ask why he is presented to us in the older colours of his armour that was destroyed by the Mudhorn in the second episode? Over all though, 75254 is a lovely set, even with the annoyance of having to apply stickers (which is a topic that takes on the additional needs of disability issues for me and my manky old lady fingers), rather than using printed pieces.

Set 75267, the Mandalorian Battle Pack is simple, cheap and rather pretty. This is a basic set with four minifigs, all in various colours of Mandalorian armour which may be different clans, with a small gun emplacement and speeder bike. The warriors are split equally male and female, but I have no idea which is which, due to the lack of lipstick, floral tops and flowing long hair, the usual key indicators used by Lego to show the gender split (stories of my subverting this by placing  the ‘male’ bodies with the ‘female’ heads, are very likely true!). Removing the helmets reveals an unprinted black head, which is slightly disturbing, but this is something that Lego had done for several years now.

The big set of this theme for 2020 has to be the fabulous ship used by the Mandalorian, the beautifully named Mandalorian Bounty Hunter Transport Ship… Oops yeah, it seems that somebody fucked up. Set number 75292, Razor Crest has in some cases been renamed following claims of trademark usage by another company, who just happen to make Lego compatible sets and some may claim have been guilty of cloning Lego sets without license. Oh dear.

I pre-ordered my set a good three months prior to release and thank the heavens that I did, because it was hopelessly delayed and finally cancelled three days after release and so I had to deal with Lego directly... during a pandemic outbreak... when every anguished parent with a Star Wars addicted child was no doubt screaming for their Mandalorian set too. Lego were hellishly busy and no doubt there were many like me, disappointed Amazon customers scrabbling to find the sets they had ordered weeks before. How many of those adults with debit cards were buying the toy for themselves though, remains a closely guarded industry secret.

When the set arrived, I was impressed by the actual size of the box which was huge and which my cat now uses for a bed! This was just the outer packaging used by Lego to ship the set, but the actual set box was still quite large and also beautifully printed, if surprisingly heavy.

Building the model was fun, even if there is a fair amount of repetition due to the chirality of the ship and the usual struggles with yet more bloody stickers! The engine nacelles are probably the least screen accurate feature, given the rough tooth like arrangement on the front intakes bares little resemblence to the smooth circular versions on the screen rendered ship. This is a tiny little complaint about an otherwise awesome model though. (I am just going to pause here for a moment. Are they really air intakes? Given that this is a spacecraft and it can travel at ‘light-speed’, why does it have these large open front intakes that resemble the compressor fan of a jet engine? Actually, that is a stream of thought that can only lead to sadness, especially with the roar of said engine as it flies across screen, supposedly in space, you know space. The place where NO ONE can hear you scream! But can hear if you miss a gear on your spaceship!)

Minfigs with this set are thoroughly cool, with our classic Mando himself, Din Djarin. He does of course have the child with him and the fidure of the child is adorable. This set also includes Greef Karga, a Scout Trooper and IG11… Um. Once again, this is a potentially confused set. Is this from the first episode or the last two? I don’t recall seeing the Scout troopers in the first episode so much, but they are present and a large part of the finale. Mando does of course have some serious issues with droids, having been orphaned during the Clone Wars, by a B2 Super Battle Droid (Speaking of droids and the Clone Wars, this does explain to me why when Luke and Obi Wan visit Mos Eisley, the cantina owner tells Luke that the droids are not welcome. It was a glaringly obvious issue that I never gave thought to, of course people would mistrust droids, the Clone Wars were a political tool used by a member of the elite, to secure their own power while creating political turmoil in which they could thrive and in which many thousands of innocent people lost their lives. I wonder if this was written to parallel real life, not that we have many examples of this in the real world), which is shown in heart breaking visceral detail during the several flashbacks we see. Again, this is just another element in this series that goes to such great depth to give the characters real heart. Anyway, back to my point, a part of his redemption was Mando coming to accept and even trust a droid, which he does with IG11, despite it being Mando himself who terminated the IG unit to begin with. So with a Scout trooper, IG11 and Greef Karga, would it be fair to say that with the child in hand, Mando should be in his silver Beskar armour? It would appear not and thus Mando is still in his dirty, rusted and damaged armour with this set. At some point they simply must release a set with him in shiny new Beskar, but maybe that will come with the release of Series two.

Over all, the sets released in this theme for 2020 have all been excellent and to an adult child like myself, well worthy of collecting, building and displaying… Because these are not  toys! They are valuable collectors pieces, future antiques and actually rather pretty. Which leads me onto my next section, how to display the models while making them look like something interesting and not just a pile of bricks. I had a space that you could have called a bookshelf, not a great space for books if I am honest, being slightly awkward and on top of my Lego desk. So I decided to fill this space with a Lego Diorama that measures one hundred and six studs wide and twenty four studs deep. It was a crap bookcase and my Lego books kept falling over or worse, falling off altogether to land on whatever I was working on at the time. The gloss painted finish proved to be be sticky, which damaged a couple of my instructions booklets and well, these are the issues you get when you design and build your own furniture, out of scrap wood and offcuts. Yes, the furniture is a bit mismatched in my office, but I made nearly all of it. Maybe one day I will do a show and tell.

The display started as a simple thing, a couple of enclosed boxes in which I could build a pair of scenes. My first scene was the Rebel Alliance looking at a hologram of the Death Star, while planning an attack on the technological terror. It is half based on Episode four with a dash of episode six. I added flickering lights and a large Death Star shell from the planets sets and stood back to admire my work. It was… OK-ish and sat like that for several months as I planned the next box and then what was to go above it.

With the release of the Mandalorian, I knew that the remaining box had to be the Covert, with the Armourer and her forge. I also knew that with the Razor Crest, I wanted some kind of scene above the covert to place both the ship and the AT-ST together, which while technically mixing a couple of episodes set on different worlds, could be seen in the soul of the show, rather than an accurate depiction of the Mandalorian itself. With the addition of some more lights it was all going so well and then I had to re-home Vader's castle, a task of Sisyphean proportions. 

Humour aside, I need a larger office. With my Solo, Rebels, Rogue One, Clone Wars, New Hope and final trilogy themes to my Star Wars Lego display, plus the collection of Technic lego so large it required specialist furniture to be built, I have run out of room. Vader’s castle is thankfully taller than it is wide and it fitted onto the shelf fairly well. It also took lighting effects really nicely and I was pleased with the results, in particular, the glowing hologram of the Emperor that appears in miniature in front of Vader's desk. However, it now looks like I have a nice castle, built on the edge of a run down city slum, with the sewers taken over by rogue blacksmiths and a group of noisy political activists. If any of you can spot the social commentary in here, well done you. Poor old Vader however can barely get any sleep, no wonder his mouse droid keeps leaping off the model and onto my carpet, it wants to escape for some peace!

So now that the office shelves are filled, what should I do next? Well actually, there are some things on the Razor Crest that I am not happy with, aspects that need some work to make it look a little better. First to go is that hideous hole in the top. Yes, it allows you to claw the pod out, but for display, rather than play, the hole is unacceptable. I made my own Moff Gideon (Using Winstone from Ghostbusters for the head and an Imperial Pilot body) and equipped him with a Darksabre. I added a pair of speeder bikes too, one for the scout that came with the Razor Crest and one for a scout that I added later.

I dread to think how much I have spent on this project, there is easily three hundred pounds in sets on my shelf alone, consisting of three large ships, one walker and a castle. There are also the various minifigs I bought from else where, such as the Rebel Alliance leadership and spare Mandalorian warriors. There are all of the lights, the wire and the switches, which cost about twenty pounds. It all adds up rather quickly and luckily for me, most of the Lego consists of bricks that I have collected over the years and a lot of those bricks were second hand.

Was it worth it? Yes it was. Not only was it a lot of fun to plan and build, but as a disabled person, it is nice to have a hobby that I can still manage and do fairly well. It is nothing like climbing a mountain, or wild camping with my mountain bike, but it stopped me going insane with boredom, especially during lockdown. Who knows what I can do next, but it is nice to be back on the technic and building actual gear boxes again.

#lego star wars #the mandalorian #star wars #lego moc #Custom Lighting #Disability #Lockdown #Scout Trooper #the razor crest #Darth Vader #Vader's Castle #AT-ST Walker #Scout Walker #Chicken Walker #The Armourer #Beskar #IG11 #The Child #baby yoda

[passednote]

The Glass Mountain

Adapted from the Polish legend as told by Hermann Kletke

He strode in on a black-bellied mare, whose hooves were caked in the clays of a hundred villages, a thousand battlefields. The muck dripped to the ground and clung there, where it clashed against the pristine, gleaming landscape. I had to look away, for atop the gorgeous creature, his golden armor glinted harshly as the light bounced from the sun to the breastplate to the glassy earth and up again in an infinite repetition.

“Boy!” he called, coming to a halt at my tent. “Know you the path to the summit?”

“Ay, sir. Though ‘tis treacherous, and within dwells a monster.”

“So it’s said, but I must pass.”

I dared to glance up, and was met first by the pools of sorrow in his eyes. He seemed a powerful lad, and carried himself with the cocksure posture I’d seen times beyond count. That look, however, arrested me. It held within it the pains of a short life racing toward a dark fate. I pointed to the northbound path.

“This is your home?”

“For now, sir.”

“Not much food or drink on a mountain of glass.”

“No, sir. But I get by.”

He turned to depart, and I watched a jolt of resistance from his steed slightly pull him. He tenderly rubbed her and as his long, pale neck crane down I imagined him murmuring sweet, impossible promises in her ear. I found myself unable to help from calling out:

“I hope it’s you, sir.”

He turned back, those tawny eyes piercing through me once more. I pinkened.

“My father hoped it was him, and my brothers after. Now I am all that is left, and can only pray the same.”

With that, he passed on.

I rode in the saddle with my mother as we made the long trek to the mountain. Where we came from or whether it took weeks or months, the faint memories no longer can tell me. I was shorter then, and could not reach the stirrups as I can now. My mother and brothers would spend nights by the fire regaling me over and over again of the legend of Glass Mountain until I could recount each dramatic pause by heart.

It was promised that whoever could reach the summit would be greeted by an orchard of apples more delicious than the sweetest honey. In the orchard waited a princess whose mystic kingdom would be granted to them the mountain saw worthy.

Knights and princes beyond count have tried only to be snuffed out by the cruel peaks and the monster that call them home. It’s said that at night it can take whatever form it wishes, and delights in the hunt of the gallant and foolhardy. If anyone were to reach the orchard and taste of the golden fruit, the beast would be banished, and the princess would restore to life all those whom the mountain had claimed.

So it was that my eldest brother began the climb. After a day, the next oldest followed after him. A week of silence passed, and finally my mother and the last of my brothers argued over who next would venture up the cliffside. My brother won out, vowing to leave the following morning while she stayed watch over her youngest son.

That night I dreamt I was Mother, weaving across a battlefield clad in her armor of elegance and cunning matched only by her sheer strength. I lost myself in the grace of her form, feeling each muscle interlock with one another in a state of absolute presence. I slept, envisioning her remolding me in that image. She could teach me the notes of. that inner harmony.

But in truth, Mother was a proud warrior. Whether the glory of the mountain called to her or fear for her sons’ lives, she slipped away in the middle of the night. My brother awoke and gave chase, leaving me still fast asleep in bed.

When I came to, I threw open the tent flap, ready to race after Mother. However, sitting there was a pile of berries and a cooked rabbit. I ate them greedily, for it was far tastier than anything on our voyage. By the time I had my fill, I felt the exhaustion of our journey wash over me, and went back in to rest.

Each day I woke to find more food waiting for me. For a time I spent the days exploring all across the slopes, dueling invisible opponents using my mother’s technique. As her I towered over the sleek wasteland, fearing only the moon and the monsters it might bring.

The years crept by as I watched for a sign of my family’s return. In time I grew, and with each day my body felt less familiar to me. My legs grew thicker, my shoulders tougher, and I feared my mother wouldn’t recognize me when she came back. I meticulously plucked the hairs from my chin using my reflections in the glass to guide me. I stopped eating the food given to me, believing it was the cause of my changes.

I grew so hungry that I accepted I had no choice but to eat. But the mountain is wise and harsh. I pleaded in the night but no food came. Desperate, I went out and learned to gather food, and in time, to hunt. Each day I would strike out and see a thousand copies of an unfamiliar face staring back at me wherever I turned. Again my body grew, and again I felt wrong.

Travelers would pass from time to time, the latest hero eager to sweep a princess off her feet. Many were kind to me, promising they’d save my brothers and mother. But they did not know the terrain’s laws like I did. Whether by the perilous cliffs or the mysterious beast, they were swallowed up. As each new champion rode to conquer, I would be reminded that the mountain always wins.

Hours passed after the shimmering knight and his midnight-colored compatriot departed my company. I’d resigned myself to another fallen hero when a thunderous clap shook the mountainside, forming tight fissures in the glass. I turned back and faintly saw a black horse plummet from one of the taller peaks, a twinkle of gold behind her as they dashed upon the rocks below. So went another hero.

I awoke that night to a cry of anguish. I curled up tight, prepared to shudder in my blanket until the morning came.

Then came another shout, this one much closer. I plugged my ears.

“Please, boy!”

Bolting up, I listened to his shallow breaths, growing softer and softer. I entered a stupor as I felt my body rush from the tent. He was splayed across the ground a few paces back. Even in the dark, I could see the blood gushing from his crushed legs reflected in the cliffs behind him. Rushing over, I grabbed his shoulder and began to drag him to the safety of the tent. That was when I heard the snapping of a branch behind me. I froze.

Crouched between us and safety was an enormous lynx-like creature, with fire for eyes and talon-like claws. It eyed me with the mildest of curiosity before resting its gaze on the knight. On his belt, a karabela rested in its sheath.

The lynx and I both saw what came next. Racing toward us, the cat pounced. I grabbed the sabre and ducked, sweeping under the initial attack before swinging. Sword met bone as the creature tumbled to the ground. It lay there in a daze, bereft of two hind legs whose reflections were splayed all along the uneven glassy mountainside.

I dropped against the knight, ignoring the cat’s whines as I listened at his chest. A faint be, growing fainter.  The man whispered:

“You must save them. Please.”

“I’m just a boy.”

“No. You’re not.”

His weight suddenly collapsed onto me, his head drooped against my chest. The beating of his heart stopped. In his eyes, that beautiful sorrow had dissipated, leaving in its place a blissful, empty reflection of hazel.

It is not easy to bury a body in glass. Instead, that morning I sheltered the knight in the corpse of a fallen tree beside the path. Grabbing the hay from my bed, I bundled him up before setting off that morning. Perhaps the creature was well and truly defeated, and the orchard lay waiting to save all those lost. And if this mountain indeed held my doom, I would no longer wait to receive it.

In addition to the karabela, I carried with me the severed legs of the lynx-beast to ease my climb. When I approached a cliff-face, I dug the talons in to climb up safer paths than others could tread. I entered a pattern of reach, hook, reach hook, and all direction and doubt fell away.

I began to see the last flecks of daylight dance through golden leaves as they peeked over the edge of the summit above me. There I rested, surveying the ravines deep below me, and the bodies beyond count that filled them. I closed my eyes as the world fell to night.

A shriek pierced the lonely cliffside. I rose just in time to make out an enormous pair of feathered wings beating down toward me, carrying with them a hideous vulture’s face. Where its legs ought to be there were only dried stumps. It catapulted at me, stretching its beak wide to grip me as it launched us into the air.

We rose higher and higher, and I saw the murderous look in its eyes. I managed to draw my sword, hacking at the creature to no avail as its grip squeezed tighter and tighter. Up and up we climbed, passing even the apple grove and the mountain’s upper limits. I felt its wings waver a moment just before its beak snapped open to send me plummeting back down to the mountain’s cruel embrace.

I plunged my karabela deep into the creature’s wing, tearing right through it as I fell. We wrestled against one another, hurtling down together into the orchard. I landed first, pillowed by a bed of leaves atop a tree. The monster fell upon me a moment later, knocking me from the branch down to the hard summit ground. I looked into it, expecting to see in the glass my death racing toward me.

Instead I saw the creature grow limp, impaled upon the tree’s knotted arm. Its screeches softened into silence. There I sat until the morning light tickled my eyes open once more.

The orchard was a silent sort of sacred, holding its breath in anticipation. I rose, examining the prized fruit hanging perfectly in place. I could not bear to pluck one away from its parent, instead finding one on the ground, split open during the previous night’s clash. The apple melted in my mouth, soothing my scrapes and sores and overflowing me with a bubbling warmth.

In time, the feeling dissipated and I was left with only echoes of sweetness.

“Princess!” I cried out. “I’ve come to end the curse.”

There was no reply. Again I called out, and again to silence.

“Is that your wish?”

Bolting my head about, I searched for the icy whisper’s source. I knew that voice.

“You are our child, and we will not deny you this request.”

I looked down to the glass earth, and was met only by my reflection.

“I am no child of yours.”

“True, you are a child no longer. But you are ours, and today you may claim what is yours.”

A low rumble began to quake, though the trees stood firm. Glass crackled in fissures, and the area about me began to rise, forming spires and ramparts of glass. Before I knew it I stood atop the battlements of a magnificent castle, whose walls ringed around the sacred orchard until it became a splendid courtyard of gold. Where there was once only unforgiving jagged peaks, a clear path now led from the castle far down to the foothills below.

“The legend told of a princess. I cannot take what is hers.”

“A princess?”

There was a pause, as if the mountain thought this over before replying:

“Is that what you would like to be?”

For a moment I was struck, unable to see past the white-hot lights that ignited all around me. Like the dream so long ago, I felt harmony within and without. I fell into the peace that lasted just a moment before fading back into life.

In the glass beneath me, I saw her: a princess clad in crystalline armor. She looked exactly as I pictured she might— long streaks of shimmering, ashy brown framing a pair of cautious, piercing amber eyes. My mother and brothers’ eyes. As I reached a hand to touch my cheek, so did she. I felt the silk of my hair slip across my fingers.

The mountain rumbled. “A princess will need subjects.”

Speechless, I watched as the path below began to fill with travelers of all sorts and sizes. There were caravaneers whose riches, once lost to the ravines, now piled high in their carts. I recognized more than a few of the warriors whose quests for glory had ended in death, now making their way up to my castle. The gates swung open to meet them as they poured into the courtyard.

I scanned the multitudes for my family, searching desperately for a sign of my brothers or mother. A squire caught sight of me, and doubled over himself in reverence. The bows spread like wildfire among the princes and merchants alike, til all the courtyard was on their knee.

It was then that I spotted a glint of gold among the sea of people. The knight, still wounded, braced himself against a steady woman’s shoulder. My mother guided him to his knee. They looked up to me, my three brothers beside them, as I took my place before this odd array of subjects.

I bid them welcome, recounting to them the very tale I tell you now. In their faces I saw astonishment, disbelief, admiration. When it reached its end, all were silent. The golden knight stood up.

“She is no princess. She is my queen!”

He raised his sword and the crowd joined in, crying out celebrations and oaths of loyalty that lasted far into the night. After a time I retreated into my chamber, still hearing the revelries through my window. I stood at one wall that had been carved into a perfect sheet of glass.

In its reflection I examined my hands, arms, shoulders, chest, waking up to myself as the outsides of my body took shape to hold all of what was within.

#blog post #short story #folklore #polish folklore #myth #passing notes #fiction

[potentiala]

Soudam Week: Day 1 - Non-Despair School Life

Hi! This my first work for Danganronpa, and I thought’s be a nice break from GM and Voltron as a whole, so please enjoy! <3 (and yes, all of these will be posted on my AO3)

This was utter nonsense.

  Pure, unadulterated tomfoolery in his opinion. And, considering it was the opinion of the Supreme Overlord of Ice and future ruler of this pathetic mortal realm, it should’ve mattered a great deal. Yes.

Should’ve.

  But against his very vehemnet protests, this... menial task was still thrust upon him. Him! The Great Gundham Tanaka! This was an insult, an outrage . And yet...Gundham didn’t dare refuse. For fear, cold blooded and rabid, fear of one homeroom teacher Chisa Yukizome. A truly monstrous mortal that even Gundam wished never to anger. Not again.

Never again.

  So here he was, the cursed offspring between an Angel and a Devil, having to ask a classmate of all things for assistance. Which was, as Gundham had previously stated, utter nonsense. The classmate in question was one Kazuichi Souda. The Super Highschool Level Mechanic.

And someone Gundham would’ve rather not interacted with.

  N-Not because that mortal with the wonderfully hellish teeth and the sharp, glitteringly intelligent eyes had caught his own all-seeing eye! N-Nor the fact that even his wonderful Dark Devas of Destruction had deemed such a mortal worthy of their nuzzles and affections. Or e-even how that loud, boisterous laughter can bring even his all-powerful ice heart to a steady melt . Wait-

Was had he been talking about?

  Oh! Right! Final projects. Yes, the projects... which are final . Those projects. Ahem, anyway, Gundham needed Souda’s help. You see, he project was to design a product that would assist one in Ultimate Talent. His other classmates had steadily finished their’s over the past months.

  The Always Hungry One had created a sort of portable sandwich holder. The Devil Dancer had invented a speaker that shouted recorded insults at those the machine recognized, greatly distressing the Timid One. The Red Eyed One and the Baby Faced One had collaborated on a project and produced a sort of decoding device. Naturally, the Great Gundham Tanaka had came up with something even better.

A cage!

  But not just any cage, this was a cage that could read the wait of an animal and adjust it’s diameters to fit the warrior properly. It was ingenious! So when his homeroom teacher had informed him that the idea and the sketches he made weren’t going to be enough to pass, the Overlord of Ice was begrudgingly forced to seek out the Sharp Toothed One for assistance on creating a prototype.

But that was proving rather difficult.

  Hope’s Peak was a huge palace with many twists and turns, not to mention seemingly infinite lab space for each of its students. So Gundam was forced to run back and forth in an increasingly frustrating search for the mechanic. It was then that his cursed ears picked up the distant siren song of a radio.

“I don’t wanna talk about it...I don’t wanna think about it.”

  It was coming somewhere further down the hall of endless garages. Could it be? Gundham decided to take a chance all follow the call of the radio enchantress.

“I’m just feeling low, feeling low.”

  All the papers and folders and pamphlets containing help information pertaining to Gundam’s project suddenly turned moist under his palms. There! Underneath the voice trapped in the radio, was that-? Gundham’s heart leapt to his throat.

Beating far too fast for something made of ice.

“Even when you’re next to me, it’s not the way I’m picturing.”

Souda.

  Gundham knew it, felt it. Underneath all that noise, was Souda’s voice. Quietly following along the song with near masterful accuracy. NOt quite melodious, but far from off-key. Just right and wonderful . This...actually came as a shock to the Ultimate Breeder.

He’d never heard something quite like it.

  Yes, he, the Great Gundham Tanaka and Super Highschool Level Animal Breeder, had never heard Souda’s voice like this . N-Not that he had actively listened into the Sharp Toothed One’s conversations! No! Not at all! I-It just seemed out of the ordinary for someone like Souda.

Which only flustered Gundham even more.

  Clearly , this was previously unknown side of Souda. Side no one knew. Until now. And he, Gundham Tanaka, now knew something about Kazuichi Souda that no one else did! Not even his beloved ‘soul brother.’ It made the Overlord of Ice preen up just the slightest bit in pride as he ventured even closer to that soft voice.

“You wanna be friends forever?”

Then it hit him.

  The Sharp Toothed One...He would most likely detest the idea of Gundham’s knowledge of this particular behavior of his. Which sent his cold heart plummeting to the deep, dark pit of Gundham’s stomach.

His mood coming down with it.

“I can think of something better.”

It was because of the She-Cat.

  That’s all Gundham was able to decipher from the absolute anomaly that was Kazuichi Souda. Apparently, the Sharp Tooth One was under the misunderstanding that he, the Great Gundham Tanaka, held romantic... affections for the Dark Queen.

Which was far, far from the truth.

  While it was true that the She-Cat was a strong and welcomed ally in his plans for world-domination, she was just that. A trusted and valued ally . Souda... Souda was different. Souda was the twist in his stomach and the worrying falter of his heart. Souda was sleepless nights dreaming of dyed hair in his hands and restless mornings filled with vain efforts to try not to stare too much at still sleep-soft expressions on Souda’s face. Sonia was stability and simplicity. Souda was nothing like that.

Souda was chaos.

“I’m just feeling low, feeling low.”

And Gundham loved it.

  It was because of the chaos Souda created within him that the Overlord of Ice could see no other being worthy of sharing his path. No other person qualified to rule the world by his side.

But that just wasn’t meant to be.

“Sleeping here right next to me...”

  For even he, the Great Gundham Tanaka, was subject to the cruel mistress that is fate. And that mistress had foretold of Souda’s doomed feelings for the She-Cat. But, what was once a strained, uncomfortable relation, had now grew into a fairly stable friendship.

Leaving him behind.

“But will you ever mess with me?”

It was Invading Black Dragon Cham-P that woke him from his stupor.

  Rubbing against his commander’s poisonous cheek softly, as if to raise his spirits. An action Gunham took full advantage of to pet his beloved Deva in a similarly caring manner. The other Devas eventually emerging from the Angel’s scarf to see what else they could do to combat their commander’s sudden sadness.

San-D’s eyes glinting dangerously.

  That alone should have tipped Gundham off. But thoughts of his rotting relationship thwe Souda and the Sharp Toothed One himself had made the Overlord of Ice weak , soft. As they always did. If only for a moment, a second .

Which was all the Devas needed.

  Shooting from their home in the Angel’s scarf with all the power of true hellbeasts. Sprinting, as if their lives depended on it, the second their paws hit the cool floor. Gundham jolting in shock. Wait! No!

They were going to Souda!

  Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Gundham could only run after them in a near-mad dash. They couldn’t alert the Sharp Toothed One to his presence! Not when he was so unprepared! But the Devas’ plan had worked. In forcing the pair’s meeting to occur faster, Gundham’s misery was altogether forgotten.  

“No...”

  Souda’s voice was but a soft howl as the Devas disappeared around the corner and into Souda’s open garage. Gundham barely able to skid to a halt at the edge of the doorframe. His, now frantic heart, almost beating out of the cage in his chest. The music was louder now, as was Souda’s voice.

Oddly comforting.

  A soft squeaks of his Devas finally gave Gundham the push he needed to peer inside Souda’s garage. And, for the second time that day, the Great Gundham Tanaka was once again shocked.

It was...different than what he had imagined.

  With large windows taking up nearly half the massive walls. Letting a great deal of natural light that made even the greasiest tools and half-finished projects sparkle. Like a magic spell, the garage was suddenly transformed into a room full of secret runes and treasures Gundham immediately longed to understand. Large metal shelves piled with current works and spare parts. And there, near the largest work table in the center of that sunlit scene, was the Ultimate Mechanic himself.

Souda.

“But at least i got you in my head, oh yeah...”

  And, like casting a magic spell, Gundham was entranced. Souda stood, with his back to the door, his long pink hair tied together in a single, glorious braid flowing between his lean shoulders. The soft, curling ends just fluttering above the small of his back treacherously. Gundham’s bandaged fingers twitching to the sudden urge to wrap his fist around the velvet rope of hair and tug the mechanic closer to him. The Overlord of Ice had seldom seen Souda’s hair like this, only appearing every seasonal heat wave or so. But, apparently, the Sharp Toothed One seemed to prefer to bind his hair whilst he worked, his beanie long since discarded. Oh Dear Dark Gods.

Gundham really liked his hair like that.

“At least I got you in my head, in my head.”

  Oh vexed vixen! Just as his all-seeing eye had trailed down the shining length of Souda’s tetresses, the little minx moved! No. No, moved wasn’t the right word for it. Not when Gundham felt a cursed heat spread throughout his face. Oh no.

He was dancing.

  Swaying his hips lazily side to side as he sang along to the radio. Gundham’s eyes following every movement. The garishly yellow jumpsuit was gone. Leaving the Souda in nothing but a stained white tank top and equally smudged jeans. The outfit clinging to his muscled frame in such a way it was downright sinful.

And wonderfully so.

“Sleepovers in my head, oh yeah…”

  As if that wasn’t already dangerous to Gundham’s health, Souda’s shoulders also adapted that same torturous swaying motion. Making the long braid of pink hair dangle teasingly behind him. Souda then moved to the short side of the table, taking a long stream of mechanized joints along with him.

Still never catching sight of the Ultimate Breeder.

  Much to Gundham’s relief, as his heart felt as if it would burst from the sheer pressure of this...this trance the Sharp Toothed One had him under. Damn it, he had underestimated the sheer amount of demonic energy this lusty creature had! The Overlord of Ice was surely paying for such negligence now.

Especially as he saw the Devas inching closer to Souda.

“But at least I got you in my head...”

  The Overlord of Ice had to furiously bite his tongue in order to resist the urge to call them back to him and indefinitely alerting Souda to his presence. Unable to do anything except look desperately into their hellfire eyes and beg them not to reveal themselves. But they just sat there, near the other end of the table. Staring at him as if to say, “Give it a chance.”

A chance?

  What would a chance do? Gundham didn’t need a chance! He need Heaven and Hell in his hands for Souda to even consider him, the Great Gundham Tanaka, as a...a romantic partner! He needed bend the very fabric of reality to-

San-D bared her teeth.

  Tiny and flat, they didn’t look dangerous. But Gundham knew better. San-D was a fierce and powerful warrior who commanded both fear and respect amongst all of Gundham’s trusted army. As such, Gundham valued the pull of her devilish instincts to a very high regard.

This was one such case.

  She looked at him and bared her fangs with all the esaperated anger of a third wheeling friend. Forcing Gundham to, once again, re-evaluate his situation. Casting Souda under his all-seeing eyes once more.

  The Ultimate Mechanic's body was leaning over the table, fussing over another joint in the machine. The end of the screwdriver pinched between those magnificently sharp teeth, the music long forgotten as he zeroed in on the offending part. Gaze sharp enough to dismantle the project before him with his mind, but hands skilled enough to fix any and all errors. No matter how miniscule.

Gundham swallowed.

  It was that razor-sharp focus and tunneled passion that drew Gundham to Souda in the first place. In addition to the vicious teeth and cackling laughter. And, ever since the, thing have only gotten worse and worse between the two. Much to the Overlord of Ice’s dismay. But...perhaps...it wasn’t too late.

Souda cheered.

  The sound shocking Gundham from his place at the door frame as Souda blessed the bright, mechanical room with the warmth of his smile. Having been proved victorious in correcting whatever foul error dare cross his path. Sharp toothed and gleaming in the light. He had a smudge of oil on his cheek. Under his left eye, with blobs of it sticking to the part of his hair too short to make it into his braid. Flopping around his face and fluttering up into the hair. The sun’s light only further highlighting how soft and achingly touchable it was. That’s it.

That was the final straw.

“In my head...”

  Gundham looked to San-D and the rest of his beloved Devas. Nodding to them, he gave his permission to continue with their plan. And just like that, the Devas quickly ran up to souda and pounced on the unsuspecting mechanic. All while their commander busied himself with flattening down his hair and straightening his scarf. Souda screaming as the Four Dark Devas quickly took hold of the object of their commander’s pining.

“In my he-GAH!”

“Bwahaha! Foolish mortal, leaving your guard down while I reside within this world? Truly, this is another victory for the Great Gundham Tanaka!”

#soudamweek2018 #soudamweek #danganronpa #dangan ronpa #goodbye despair #soda kazuichi #tanaka gundham #soudam

[plungermusic]

“Kinda bent, but we ain’t breakin’… in the long run”

Maverick Saturday stretched out before us like a challenge - thirteen hours is a long time on your feet for a couple of oldsters, but we’d give it our best shot…

We didn’t catch all of Dan Walsh’s opening Barn set, but his closing number, a lyrical, backwoods folk-flavoured instrumental that peaked in an increasingly frenetic celtic reel to the whoops and stomps of the crowd, was enough to impress us with its fleet-fingered dexterity.

Kelly Bayfield made her second barn appearance with another stylish set drawn from the new album: Kelly taking to the piano to give us a new short number Sing which was twinned (“well, they’re a similar flavour, and in the same key!”) with her last single Hitchhiker, both oozing classy 70s chanteuse vibes and the latter closing in some great Telecaster work from Andy Trill in a majestic closing solo.

There’s not much that’d drag us away from a Kelly performance early, but having spotted his programme picture (“Long hair, Les Paul? That’ll do!”) we pottered down to the open air Green Stage for David Banks and his band. He did exactly what we thought it said on the tin: lots of Springsteen/Petty influenced muscular Americana with a dash of Molly Hatchett topped with excellent southern-fried guitar and classic ‘big endings’… marvellous.

He was followed by Simon Stanley Ward (another ‘old fave’) who brought his Jonathan Richmanish irreverence and wit to Old Time Country in Excuse Me While I Feel Sorry For Myself; the Graceland-African-style I’m A Worrier (”…that’s worrier, not warrior”) a swinging rock’n’roller Bigfoot, Baby (Eddie Cochran meets cryptobiology) and Rocket In The Desert (the salad leaf not the projectile) with its Lawrence Of Arabia theme tease. While lampooning his own assumed-Nashville twang in American Voice the accompaniment was as echt as you could want, and the deadpan humour of Beluga Whale was sung to a properly stirring Journeyesque anthem.

As it wasn’t raining The Green seemed the place to stay, where Forty Elephant Gang came next. Reviewing their album we were a little sniffy about their ‘crowd-pleasing festival songs’ but aside from the field holler-meets-O Brother Where Art Thou-style Songs Of Praise, this set was mostly the ones we’d liked: the relaxed Tex-Mex of Strange Things Happening with three-part harmonies and intertwining mando’n’guitar lines; the melancholic waltz of Young Man’s Game and the Squeeze-y domestic wit of Drunken Promise Song. A final ‘crowd-pleaser’ came in the chugging bluesy Hands Out Your Pockets, an instruction the assembled masses eagerly followed to add the required clap-along.

Sam Chase Trio made another appearance at The Green, wooing the larger crowd with both edgy humour (including praising UK portaloos in comparison to US versions, and introducing Everyone Is Crazy But Me as “a children’s song... now, what they mean is that it’s simple, since kids are generally at the dumber end of the spectrum”), and songs as varied as the fiery protest of What Is All The Rage and the haunting, wistful Lost Girl, (from the “Faustian Spaghetti Western Of Epic Proportions Known As The Last Rites Of Dallas Pistol”) sung by cellist Devon.

Now Plunger do like a bit of bluegrass, whether it’s grainy b/w Flatt & Scruggs clips from the 50s, through Sam Bush and New Grass to Béla Fleck and Greensky Bluegrass so The Folly Brothers should have been our kind of thing… however what we heard of them was more My Old Man’s A Dustman than anything Appalachian so we wandered off…

Back at The Barn Dean Owens and the Southerners drew a large and attentive crowd, but the popular Scot also left us a bit underwhelmed. Mellow, melodious troubadoury country that wouldn’t have been out of place on a mid-afternoon 70s Radio 2 show, the kind of thing that takes a deep listen in your bedroom to appreciate the stories told: very easy on the ear for sure but without any particular thing to grab us at a festival.

After an abortive attempt to catch Ella Spencer and her accompanist at The Moonshine (an extremely long soundcheck with problems with feedback from pretty much everything they touched meant we gave up) we caught a snatch of Los Pistoleros as we rounded The Green: probably the most C.O.U.N.T.R.Y. thing of the weekend, complete with draggy fiddle, pedal steel and old time vocal harmonies… if I’d not left my cowboy boots at home I’d have been out line-dancing with the best of them.

Plunger had only just seen Alyssa Bonagura (with Tim De Graaw’s band) less than a week since. Here at The Barn she was nominally solo but Tim joined her to add sweet harmonies and mellow guitar to Alyssa’s polished Cali-country: her strong yet ethereal vocal equally at home in slow emotional confessionals or giggly upbeat Big Yellow Taxi-style big strummers.

Listed only as ‘Dogs Play Dead’ it was only a lucky guess that took us down to The Green for what turned out to be Friday’s headliners Black Eyed Dogs playing a set of Grateful Dead classics. Mainly those with a countryish twist to them already, like Casey Jones, I Know You Rider and Friend Of The Devil; and bringing that flavour with fiddle and pedal steel to others like Truckin’, China Cat Sunflower, Playing In The Band and the epic closing Franklin’s Tower. All done with the right degree of loose, shambling rhythms and discursive noodling on guitar (and fiddle!) Fabulous stuff for grooving on the grass under what by now were glorious sunshine-filled blue skies.

Brooks Williams’ jangly sonorous acoustic and warm, smooth higher register vox was ideal early evening fare at the barn, in covers like Dave Alvin’s King Of California, traditional numbers like Deep River Blues and originals like the Gordon Lightfootish melancholy of Frank Delandry, and the damp-eyed nostalgia of Palomino Gold, aided toward the end of his set by some more excellent banjo from Dan Walsh.

The USP of Eddy Smith & the 507 is Eddy’s gravelly soulful voice, ideal for their bluesy-edged material, like the harp-led strut of It Don’t Feel Much Like Living and the new single Ticket Out Of Here, a bustling two-step with impressive three-part harmony vocals. They definitely have moved up a level since we last saw them a couple of years back.

Somehow we managed to miss Sarah Petite with her band completely on Friday, and almost all of her stripped-back Moonshine set on Saturday. Which was definitely our loss gauging by the brief snatch of crackling husky vocal over restrained bass and reverb laden guitar that we heard while hunting for a still-open toilet (a water supply problem having rendered all loos unusable for a considerable portion of the late evening... pretty much the only fly in the ointment all weekend!)

As the sun set the two-month date differential was beginning to tell: clear night skies in September aren’t quite the same as July and the growing chill was testing our stamina a bit. We headed for The Peacock and the tribute show to John Prine, hosted by Rich Hall. Pretty much every act who was on site came to do a turn in honour of the recently-deceased songwriting legend, with their own favourite from his oeuvre. Kelly Bayfield band gave us Hello In There, Tim De Graaw with Alyssa did That’s The Way The World Goes Round, Alyssa gave us the obligatory Angel From Montgomery, and Simon Stanley Ward (plus Kelly) gave a fantastic rollicking Lake Marie. Entirely in character, Sam Chase Trio broke the mould and gave us their own tribute song John Prine.

Rich Hall had to skip out on MC duties to attend his own set at The Barn: sacrilege to say, but the appeal of stand up (even to music, even from such a big name) palled a little. It was getting bitterly cold (you could see your breath hanging in the air) and given that what we could hear of his set was the same as we’d heard last time he was here we spent much the time attempting to warm up with piping hot beverages. However it was by far the rammedest set of the weekend, with the tightly-packed crowd spilling out of The Barn for some distance.

Jon Langford was unsurprisingly somewhat hindered by the draw of Rich Hall (which left The Peacock a bit underpopulated!) His spiky, punky approach wasn’t entirely our bowl of chilli, although the rendition of Eddie Waring (originally by Help Yourself with Deke Leonard and BJ Cole, who was sitting in with Jon tonight) was very good.

The programme description of headliner Jerry Joseph did its best to weaken our staying power too: with our deep suspicion of any write-ups that include the ‘p-word’, and somewhat incredulous of the mention of ‘jam bands’, Jerry looked like he wouldn’t be our kind of thing at all. However he didn’t live down to expectations (wholly). A very animated stage-prowling audience-provoking figure in shorts and no shoes, there was no shortage of energy even if it was largely unchannelled and could get a little wearing… (maybe it was that, maybe it was the chill, but The Barn steadily thinned out during his set, ending less than half full). War At The End Of The World was the pick of the bunch, although like most of his material it would probably have sounded better with a band (like, erm, Stockholm Syndrome, which he co-founded; or, erm, Widespread Panic who he has written for… so much for our ‘jamband incredulity’!)

While it might have ended as a bit of a test of endurance, there were more than enough high points to make Saturday another enjoyable Maverick experience.

“Did we do it for love? Did we do it for money? More like stubborn dumb persistence and hot chocolate, honey…”

#Maverick Festival

[ahahwr]

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[fictionerd]

GOOD. TO. SEE. YOU. FRIENDS!!!

Here we are! The first post of Summer Season 2018 and we’ll be covering Planet With. This series is released on Sundays and can be watched on Crunchyroll. 

Okay, so let’s cover what we learn from the first two episodes of Planet With.

In episode one we’re introduced to Souya, a young amnesiac who dreams of horrifying giant draconic creature attacking a city and some one flying off to confront it. See it’s shit like this that causes dragons to have a bad reputation. Seriously I can’t believe these assholes who go around burning whatever the hell they want just because they can breath fire. If it weren’t for them dimensional travel wouldn’t be such a daunting prospect for me. I never know when some one is going to have a traumatic flashback and attack me all because some scaley clown got it into their head to “burninate” something.

Sorry, I’m digressing again. After waking up from his ptsdream Souya prepares to have a normal breakfast with his perfectly normal housemates of a large cat-person and green-haired maid. 

Oh wait... My bad. See I’m used to hanging out with a Teddy-Bear whisperer with the ability to access the life’s memory of a version of herself in any given universe, an elf who ONLY exists in the metaverse of the Akashic Record, and most recently a shadow-monster who spent three months pretending to be Swole-Bear. There was also that time I tried to hang out with a copy of a video game character, but we’re not considering that canon anymore. At least not entirely for legal reasons. Oh! There’s also the British man who tears holes in dimensions to fight against “unfair fates” who I’m apparently hosting a podcast with now? My point being that to me the above image is perfectly normal. To most anyone else this is probably at least a three on the Sir Memery WTF chart.

After finishing his veggie breakfast Souya sets off for school complaining about wanting to eat some meat where he bumps into his class rep whose name he has forgotten. You’d think this is just an excuse to set up Tsundere vibes with her, but no it’s far FAR worse than that. See her name is: Kagaratamaha? [wrong buzzer] Hakatamagara? [wrong buzzer] Ta-ka-ma-ga-ha-ra? [Correct Tone] 

So Nickname Pending is worried about Souya and how he doesn’t make friends at his new school. This is because she knows what it’s like to be the new kid, and has apparently never watched an anime in her life so she doesn’t quite grasp the concept of “Leave the mysterious blue-haired transfer alone”.

Side Note: This character’s introduction marks the first time I’ve ever gotten a Japanese pun without some one explaining it to me. So allow me to ruin it for you all by explaining it. She offers Souya some of her Hamburger Steak to which he replies with tears of join “Megane-sama” which she mishears as “Megami-sama” and sheepishly replies that she doesn’t think she’s a goddess before immediately realizing what he’d actually said. This leads into the reveal of her actual name which I refuse to ever use the entirety of again because I honestly don’t think the joke is that funny.

Later that day Souya’s shounen receptors begin to tingle as he picks up on the impending conflict of the story. A UFO is sighted offshore headed towards the city. When the air-force is deployed to deal with the object (Picture in header) they find themselves the victim of some strange joyous delusion and leave the object alone. it’s only when seven strange people, apparently psychics of some kind, utilize their powers to confront it is it stopped. We see one of these people enter the object through a “Weak Point” and have his own delusion.

See, his mother was killed in a fire when he was a little boy causing him to become a firefighter. The UFO hits his brain with a delusion of child him being held back from the blaze by a firefighter only for that firefighter to turn out to be adult him. Adult Firefighter Psychic dude runs into the fire, saves his mom, and the two of them walk through the cherry blossoms as he sorts through all the pent up regrets he has about not being able to save her when he was a kid. Only after we’ve conveniently gotten to know this character’s defining trauma does his squad get through to him and break the delusion, then he uses his Psychic Golem Powers to wreck the hell out of the UFO causing it and copies of it that had appeared around the world to disappear all at once. The same can be said for the Psychics who all blast off to separate places to avoid the fate of E.T. one presumes

While all this was going on Souya got a call from Ginko (That’s green-haired maid lady for those not following the series who also don’t care about spoilers). She tells Souya that he has to defeat “it”, but contrary to what everyone in the audience thinks it turns out that “it” refers to one of the Psychics and not the UFO thing. After Ex-Firefighter current world-saver exits the bushes onto a highway he encounters Souya the cat-man and Ginko. Souya is sporting a mask and being basically lead by the nose at the behest of Catman and Ginko. Now hold onto your seats because this is where shit gets REALLY weird. 

Catman swallows Souya turning into a mech in the process that Souya is now piloting. They get into a fight with Firefighter dude who summons up his psychic golem thing. After fumbling around at Ginko’s direction Souya manages to pilot the Catmech to victory over Psychic Fireman and retrieves a vial of star-shaped dust that is the “source of his power”. At which point I’m lead to believe that Souya recovered his memories because he shouts at Firefighter to tell his friends that Souya is going to kick their collective asses. This is presumably because he believes them to be behind his ptsdream.

After the credits roll we see a scene where a guy I can only describe a scruffy Alder from Pokemon Gen 5 says ominously that Firefighter dude had been taken out.

So, before even watching episode two I can already hands-down predict that this guy is the Draconic asshole from Souya’s ptsdream. Not sure how everything fits together but my working theory is that Souya’s from another planet that Earth governments or some shadowy organization somehow invaded and stole something from. Souya is a sleeper agent and the “Peas” balloon things are meant to lure out those in possession of the Stolen Macguffin or whatever.

There we have Episode One. Please excuse me now while I go watch Episode Two. Well... I mean you can just keep reading by the time this goes up but... BRB!

[Approximately 30min later]

Well my theory from about two paragraphs ago is up in smoke as soon as the opening scenes of this episode roll in and further dashed upon the rocks by Ginko later in the episode. All things in their proper order.

So Torai (That’s firefighter-guy’s name btw) makes his report to dragon-man about his encounter with Soya and company. The other six Psychic warriors all make jabs at him as though he died even when he’s sitting right there in an example of a gag that is legit funny unlike Tara’s name from last episode. While we’re talking about the exposition meeting may I just say that I feel BETRAYED!

See Dragon CEO guy is as nerdy as I AM! He’s the one who found out that the enemy force is called Nebula. He called the giant abominations “Nebula Weapons” gives Soya and Company the name Nebula Soldiers, and what does he call the Psychic Golems his crew uses to fight? Psychokinetic Mega-God Photon Armor. If I didn’t know better I’d think my pops made him from the same mold as me no less. Oh, and their little world-saving club? It’s the Citizens' Safety Center Special Defense Section: "Grand Paladin". I’m in tears, people, this is a Draconid after my own heart.

So, the “Grand Paladin” peeps implement the buddy system in case they run into Soya again. Meanwhile Soya’s having a sulk because apparently Ginko and “Sensei” dragged him to Earth to be their soldier. He goes out on a walk in Iron Clogs (I’m guessing this is a joke I’m not getting). On the run he meets up with Torai who just happens to have purchased a bunch of meat buns from a convenience store. They have a conversation because Torai is a nice guy (that’s a legit nice guy not the version that’s been turned into a derogatory term by certain groups online). See Torai, while out looking for his attacker couldn’t help noticing what he thought was a middle-schooler sitting on a random bench crying and came over to see if there was anything he could do to help.

He gives Soya a bun they chat for a bit with Soya desperately trying both not to give away who he really is as well as to eat the bun because dammit he just wants some MEAT for once! All of a sudden the evacuation alarm is sounded because this wonderful abomination has appeared off shore.

Nebula really needs to consult a different artist about their designs. I personally recommend @dashfox1artwork. 

Robin: Shamelessly plugging your internet friends are we dragon-boy? 

Fic: If you’re not going to show up and fight keep your mouth shut Shadow-bear. I’m just doing my part to show that not all Dragons are assholes. Robin: Whatever you say.

So, the six remaining Psycho-God pilots attack the Ugly Bacon Idol and the pink-haired girl of the team, Miu, is the one to enter the core. The hallucination she sees is of her beating her friend Harumi (Pilot of the Bear-armor) at apparently a Judo competition. We find out that Miu has always just wanted to be strong, and we also learn that she IS strong being able to break through the illusion of the Nebula Weapon with relative ease and destroy the thing. It’s at this point that I should mention that a message has flashed before each of the characters who take one of these things out. In Miu’s case the message was “It’s okay to be weak”. For Torai in episode one the message was “I forgive you” presumably preying on his regrets about his mom.

After Piggy McHideous is dispatched the group separates into its pairs and as we expected Soya and Co target the pair with a member who just fought a battle, but let’s back up for a second because there’s some exposition from Ginko during the fight with the Baconator that needs addressing.

She reveals to Soya that Nebula is indeed the name of the group they work for, but there are multiple faction. Ginko and “Sensei” are with the “Pacifist Faction” whereas the Monuments to terrible design sense that have been popping up in the harbor belong to the “Sealing Faction”. Basically think of this as political parties. One wants to prevent humanity from rising up against them one day by brutally suppressing their ability to advance and keep them in a state of complacency, while the other just wants to take away any dangerous toys that humanity might come up with and hope that they can “guide” humanity onto the path of “Love” rather than “Power”.

Hmmm one group bent on maintaining their personal status quo at the cost of anyone else and another that wants to control precisely what power the general populace has access to in order to “guide” them on the “right path”? I wonder where I’ve heard that one before?

Sorry about that. The Writer is coming through me a little strongly there. Point is that Ginko is using Soya to enact social and ideological control... I MEAN to take away the magical stardust that allows the Psycho-God Pilots to do their thing... yeah. Back to the proper progress of the episode: Soya once again pilots his cat-mecha-sensei to fight against Miu and Harumi. It is a pretty fun fight, but all things must go as has been foretold. So after being on the ropes for most of the conflict Soya turns everything around at the last second with a miracle uppercut against the Bunny-god armor. As Miu is falling back to Earth Ginko appears and grabs the stardust vial away from her. Apparently Ginko can just Mary Poppins herself to wherever she pleases? They all land and Ginko’s like “That’s all for today”, but Soya’s having none of it. He’s ready to take the fight to Bear-mech too when all the other Psycho-Pilots show up including CEO Dragonface to say “Checkmate”, and that’s where our story concludes for now.

Y’know I’m coming more and more around to the opinion that we should be routing for “Grand Paladin” here rather than the lady influencing Soya or the massive, faceless organization that wants to turn us all into Proles from 1984. I mean, yeah, they do have the snake-eyed dude. They meet in what appears to be some sort of board room, and the writing seems to indicate that they’re the “Antagonists” if not the villains, but so far they don’t seem to be anything but a collection of well-intentioned if somewhat zany people. Even the big CEO-type with the intimidating presence, as was discussed earlier, is a lovable and hammy goofball. 

I love any series that makes its antagonists human. Granted cartoonish villainy and even edgelordiness has its place in stories, but when you can make your antagonists and especially your villains feel human and relatable it just rings home that nobody is the villain in their own story. Everyone has reasons for what they do. They may not have excuses or justifications, but they all have reasons.

For instance, I have a reason for breaking my own rules here by reading my political views into the story.

[pauses for dramatic effect]

Yes, yes I’m sure you’re all very shocked at this revelation. I mean I was so subtle about it (/s). My reason is that when I went back and really thought about what the “Sealing” and “Pacifist” factions of Nebula stood for I (and this is really the nerd behind The Nerd speaking) couldn’t help but see parallels to some of the more distasteful extremes of Conservative and Liberal politics at work. Both sides seek to impose their morality upon others. While one does so by attempting to keep people complacent with the status quo, the other does it by appealing to the rebellious nature inherent in people and channeling it into “causes”.They use guilt and peer pressure to convince people that their way of thinking is correct and I absolutely cannot stand seeing it happen. Especially when they prey upon others using causes that need legitimate champions! 

The goals of the “Pacifist” faction are arguably “good”. They are part of a group that has watched humanity evolve and they only want the best for us. They “keep their involvement to a minimum”, but at the end of the day they’re doing the same thing that the “Sealing” faction is doing. They’re enforcing their own will on humanity by taking away humanity’s means to fight against them, or anyone for that matter.

In the anime this is likely because the “Pacifist” faction is short-sighted and hasn’t stopped to consider what will happen to humanity when they take away the only weapon they have against the “Sealing” faction, but in reality? In reality groups like the “Pacifist” Faction either are themselves or contain an element that wants the people they’re disarming to become reliant upon them for what they need. They take away that person’s own weapons and replace them with their own. They dictate the rules of battle and push you to come to them for aid and defense. They accrue personal power and influence at the cost of their followers’ freedom of thought.

These are important things to think about and be on the lookout for, and it’s an issue that is very prevalent in my own life and dealings online. So those are my reasons for why I read political allegory into the factions of Planet With. Now am I justified for doing this when I so often decry others for “reading shit that isn’t there into stories”? No, of course I’m not. Or rather I’m not justified using that argument against people who dropped a show as a result of what they read into it. 

I’m not going to lie. I’m inexperienced with expressing views on creative work online, and am overly sensitive to certain things. I’m just as flawed as anybody else. It’s hard for me to understand when people see “bullshit” in something that I didn’t see. It’s hard for me to accept some one calling a show (particularly one I like) “Garbage” when really it’s just not clicking with them. I know that I’ve been guilty of calling a show “Garbage” in my time, but it’s a term I hope to avoid moving forward. I want to live up to my professed belief that there is good to be found in all fiction, even the “bad” fiction. Part of that is accepting the responsibility I tell others they need to accept. To practice what I preach.

If I’m determined that the Audience has just as important a role in creating art as the Authors then I need to learn to accept the interpretations of my fellow audience members, and to feel free to express my own interpretations of things.

[stops to take a break and slide back into character]

Wow... That ended up being a lot heavier than I imagined. What a way to kick off the summer season! There’s more to come but for now I need a break, and the writer could probably use a nap.

Until next post keep talking fiction, friends! I’ll see you soon

#Anime #Planet With #Episode 1 #Episode 2 #Fictionerd #Let's Talk Anime #LTA #Robin

[rupertgayesarchive]

Title: l’ours et le roi Pairing: Michael/Ryan Summary: A year after King Haywood’s faithful knight is presumed dead, the only thing that rouses him from his sadness is the strange appearance of a bear he finds while out hunting. A very well behaved bear, at that. A/N: Based on the medieval French story called ‘Bisclavert’ by Marie de France (this version is only slightly more homoerotic than the original, just so you know). I wanted to write this in the style of a fairy tale, which is why there’s a lot of narration and other stylistic differences. Also - this was done for Myan Week 2017 - Minecraft/Kings! au

-

Once upon a time in a faraway land there lived a loyal knight by the name of Michael Jones. He was considered unparalleled amongst his peers; youthful, fiery, and beloved, especially by the country’s sovereign, King Haywood. The Lord loved his knight dearly, and his affections were clearly displayed; through every acre of land he added to Michael’s home; every jewel encrusted along his sword hilt; every kiss he placed upon his brow, it was no secret that Michael was his favorite.

Some viewed Michael with respect, others fear, and still others envy; but Michael was careful, and any true threat to him was easily exposed to the King. He knew, for example, that a novice knight had been upset with him after accusing Michael of escaping the castle grounds several nights a month; Michael had retaliated by drawing his sword, and the jealous knight had merely fled, cementing his own cowardice to the rest of the castle.

Despite the technical victory, Michael grew worried, because knight’s accusations were founded in truth: he had snuck out of the castle for several days each month. He never revealed the reason why he did this, not even to his precious King. Even worse, his time to flee outside the castle’s walls was fast approaching, and he doubted that disagreeable knight would soon forget Michael’s insult to him.

Still, on the next clear night, Michael crept out of his room. He had gotten exceptionally good at sneaking down the corridors without being spotted, and once he had bypassed the common guards and entered the royal garden, he assumed he was free. However, unbeknownst to him, he was being watched. A dangerous mix of curiosity and spitefulness prodded that jealous knight into following Michael on such an evening. He hid around corners and behind statues until he too had gotten outside. He reached the edge of the garden just as Michael began climbing its tall stone wall, which was covered in thick ivy vines. He went up with the ease of a cat before jumping to the other side. The knight began climbing up himself, not nearly as easily. When he finally reached the top of the wall he looked down to see Michael undressing in the dark. Perhaps he was meeting a lover then, the other knight thought sourly. Michael tucked his pile of clothes beneath a flower bush and walked several paces towards the large forest that acted as a barrier against prospective invaders, or sometimes hunting grounds for royal parties. Now, however, he saw Michael hunch onto the ground, as if wounded by an invisible force.

Michael twitched and rolled, and his form grew exponentially in size and became covered in dark hair. The other knight watched, disgusted and perplexed, until finally the transformation was complete, and where a human man had once been a monstrous brown bear was instead. It moved its head to the left and right before walking into the dense woods, disappearing from sight.

The knight was revolted, truly – to have a beast hiding in their midst! To have stolen the King’s attentions with his skills as a fighter when in reality he had attained everything through magic. He hopped down onto the other side of the wall. Now, as a suspicious man, the knight had always known a bit about transformations, lycanthropes, and so on, and he suspected that as in other cases, Michael needed his human clothes to turn back into a man. So, thinking himself very clever, the knight gathered up the tunic, belt, sword, and shoes into his arms and took them back to the castle. The very next day, the knight bundled up the clothes and gave them to a courier to send to his home in the country to ensure Michael would never find them again.

After three days and three nights with no sign of Michael, King Haywood began to grow distraught. He asked the knights and gentlemen of his court if they had seen the man, but no one had. After a week, a search was called, and every able man and woman searched high and low for Michael – even the knight who had succeeded in banning him. In fact, he searched hardest of all, calling for parties through the woods he knew the beast would go to. And after a month of fruitless searching, the knight was satisfied to report to King Haywood that Michael was missing forever, if not deceased already. With a heavy heart, King Haywood gave the same knight – who seemed nearly as motivated as himself to find Michael – Michael’s own land and home as a reward for his dedication, to which the knight happily retired to, reveling in fortunes he didn’t earn.

As for the King, he found himself to be more depressed and more inconsolable with each passing month. Without his skilled warrior – without his dear friend, Michael, what was he to do? He mourned eccentrically; commissioning a monument of Michael Jones in the town square, and his portrait in the royal gallery, so that the young man’s image could stare across at his own. He locked and boarded up the fallen man’s chambers and hung one of his diamond swords above his own bed. As the year drew on, and the King’s sadness only deepened, his advisers grew worried, and his other knights scared. Something must be done.

-

A year passed. Perhaps spurned by the anniversary, King Haywood announced a hunt should take place; the knights and advisers rejoiced, and so the King and other gentlemen went walking one day through the dense forests behind the castle. The dogs they brought were large and bred for sniffing out animals, and soon they caught trace of a sizeable creature – “A wolf?” a man asked, “A boar?” his friend supposed; suddenly a beast broke out from the underbrush and ran off, dashing through the trees with a line of dogs barking at his heels, the men following afterwards. “A bear!” King Haywood shouted. “I saw it and it’s definitely a bear! The largest I’ve ever seen.” They spent hours following the dogs, this way and that, nearly losing them several times, and every once in a while catching a glimpse of the large beast’s movement through the vegetation.

By the late afternoon, the dogs had trapped the bear, forcing it towards the end of a cliff edge. Without anywhere to go, the men drew their swords and bows, waiting for their King’s call. King Haywood took his place at the front of the crowd, taking in the size of the beast. It peered around desperately, and seemed to lock eyes with the men.

Suddenly it leapt forward, towards the King; before anyone could signal the dogs, the bear reached for the King’s hand, grasping it, the beast kissed his leg, then his foot. It then looked up at him with ink colored eyes; they were glassy and rounded, almost like buttons. And yet, the King saw a spark in the depths of the creature’s gaze; an undeniable human quality within them. He pushed past the fear he felt – for the beast still had a claw curled around his limb – because surely the thing would have decimated him by now, if its plan was to strike out. But it remained still, looking up at Ryan, its face set in what he had to label as a pleading expression.

His knights surrounding him murmured fearfully, as frozen as the King was, and only the bark from one of the hounds snapped King Haywood back to reality.

He put a hand out. “Stop! This is no ordinary animal – look how he kneels, like he’s begging for mercy.” Ryan swallowed, watching the bear carefully. “It would be inhumane, possibly dooming to kill him. Our hunt ends here.” Still anxious for his safety, he placed a hand on the bear’s head; the thing was unbothered, tilting its head upwards, leaning into his touch. The bear’s fur was soft and warm from the beast’s body heat and the sun beams that shone down onto the forest floor. “You have my word, noble… bear, that no harm will come to you.”

“Sir,” one of the knights said. “What shall we do now?” King Haywood glanced at his men, then at the still kneeling beast. After a moment, it moved its face, nuzzling his snout gently into Ryan’s palm. The King laughed out of surprise – the beast was more tempered than he had thought.

“I suppose we shall take the bear and place him in the castle. He hasn’t harmed me, or any of you. Something with such a human demeanor deserves to live like a human.”

The bear seemed to understand the King’s words, and it stood on all fours; it towered over all of the men in the clearing, and dwarfed the hounds, who sniffed him curiously. King Haywood sheathed his sword – the other knights did the same – and they all proceeded in a line out of the forest, the King in front, and the beast to his side.

Imagine the surprise of the rest of court, seeing the King and his knights return with a bear the size of a cottage, walking on all fours in time with his genial captor. The whole scene caused quite a stir, and some members of court wondered if their King had been knocked in the head while hunting; for King Haywood talked to the beast, and let it wander around the castle freely; there were no chains holding it, not even a leash. Luckily, the bear seemed fond of the King, and typically stayed by his side, following dutifully behind like a pup. The most disruptive the creature got was when it would nose at the King’s hand until the man would pet its head, or scratch its chin, and the bear would let out soft growls of contentment.

There were nobles who complained, of course, but even the residual grievances of the kingdom’s nobles were quelled when a pair of children – brought into court one day by their blueblood mother – had shaken themselves from her grip and began to crawl on top of the bear, who had been laying by the King’s throne. Everyone, especially the lady who had brought her children, watched in fear, waiting for the beast to roar and attack. Instead, it merely walked over to the hysterical woman, and let her pick her precious babies from its back before wandering back to where the King sat; from then on, the bear had irreversibly won the hearts of everyone in the castle.

For lack of a name, the King merely referred to him as Bear, or ‘noble beast’; he saw the creature as a treasure to the kingdom, a natural blessing to the country he ruled, and he made a public decree that no harm should befall the bear; it was given the best food, a large tub to be bathed in, and was brushed daily until his fur shined.

The King allowed the bear to roam through the castle grounds, and it followed the King everywhere he went, even to his own bed chambers! Ryan would attempt to talk the beast into leaving his rooms at night – for the bear must have understood human speech to some extent – but it never budged, and no amount of men could push such a large animal somewhere it didn’t want to go, so the King was resigned to keep the bear with him while he slept; he in bed, the beast curled up by the fireplace (though on occasion he would climb into Ryan’s bed while the man was asleep, and the King would wake, nearly falling onto the floor as the beast snored contentedly on top of the covers.)

The constant companionship worked wonders on the King’s temperament; while he was a generous and cunning ruler, everyone in the castle knew he had been pushed into a great sadness upon the death of his beloved warrior, Michael. His unexplained disappearance seemed like a crushing weight the King could never rise up from. And yet, in a matter of weeks it was as though the King was back to his old self; his laughter flowed throughout the halls like music; his smiles appeared often and easily; his posture no longer bent anxiously, and his steps took on a renewed confidence. It was only when his cherished bear came to stay with him that everyone could see the King was previously living as a shadow of his former self; and for that alone, the bear became a sacred symbol.

Perhaps the bear was magic, or at least a divine miracle. Even the King himself had noticed his own happiness had been found again. One night, nearly half a year after having found his companion, he sat in a chair by his bedroom window, the bear resting its head in the King’s lap. From where he sat, the King could see the capital’s green, surrounded by stout brick houses, their chimneys letting out gentle wafts of smoke into the sky. “Bear,” he murmured, and the beast lifted its head. Ryan pointed out the window. “You can’t see it from here,” he said, “But down below there’s the statue of our nation’s best warrior, a dear friend of mine. His name was Michael –” The bear moved suddenly, raising itself up on its hind legs to peer out the window. “I said you can’t see it!” Ryan said, laughing, tugging gently at the beast’s fur until it settled again. “In any case, he went missing over a year ago now.” The King sobered, and sunk both hands deep into the bear’s mane. “I don’t know which thought is worse – that he went out into the wilderness and died, or that he ran away for some other reason, instead. We were very close, you know; I knew nearly everything about him. But he would vanish for days at a time, and he would never say why.”

The bear chuffed softly and slid its head off Ryan’s lap. It used its mouth to tug gently at the King’s pant leg, a familiar gesture which told Ryan to stand up. He obeyed, and followed the bear to his bed. He worked his way under the covers, and blew out a candle that was placed by his bedside table. The bear’s dark eyes watched him as he situated himself, before the beast sat down on the floor by Ryan’s side. “I’m a blessed man to have found you, my friend,” he murmured in the darkness. A paw came up and touched the King’s hand, and Ryan let it drop off the mattress. He felt a wet tongue lick at his fingers, then a warm nose against his palm. The King smiled, resolute, and fell asleep with a hand on the noble beast’s head.

Many more months passed, and the King took a ride through the countryside of his kingdom – the bear naturally accompanying him. While the leisurely pace he traveled was like that of a vacation, his true purpose was to visit the various nobles who remained in the country permanently, collecting taxes from the farmers and villagers working on their property. This brought him to a large stretch of property that had once belonged to Michael himself, but was now ruled over by the very knight who condemned him to a life trapped inside a beast’s form.

Michael had since grown used to his new body, and perhaps could have gone on as such for the rest of his life; but when he caught sight of the retired knight’s face, a wave of rage came over him, and he leapt from the behind the carriage where he had been walking beside the King. He gave a roar full of carnivorous animosity and swiped at the human, watching with pleasure as he crumpled to the ground, blood blooming across his face.

There was a flurry of movement – the King jumped from his horse, caught between helping the baron or the bear, while the knight cursed and spat at the beast; “It’s crazed!” he shouted, knights flanking him and pulling him up onto his feet. “It’s going to kill all of us if we don’t strike it down first!” The King paled, watching with fear as what he thought was his tame beast growl dangerously at the baron. “Get it away from me!”

“I don’t understand,” one of the knights said frantically. “He’s lived with humans for more than a year, and he hasn’t even growled!”

“It’s a wild beast!” The baron shouted. “Kill it!”

Thinking frantically, the King spoke: “Could it be… that you offended it?” All the men stared at the King.

“How would I offend this thing?”

“He’s been nothing but polite, as though he were a person all this time. The only reason such a creature would act so out of character must be some sort of offense on your part.” The knight’s face flashed with fear, though he tried to conceal it. But Ryan was shrewd, a necessary component of a King, and he nodded to his guards. “If he won’t admit anything, then we can bring him back to the castle and hold him there until he confesses. I’m not above torture, if necessary.”

“You’re mad! He’s just as insane as that monster!” The baron wriggled in the grip of the knights, to no avail.

“Insulting your King? It’s you who must be crazed. Let’s tie his hands to the horse’s saddle and make him walk back to the castle –” As the baron was pulled, his hands tied at the wrist, he yelped and broke down. Not a strong man in physicality or feeling, he admitted his crimes.

“Alright, I’ll tell you! Just let me go.” Hesitantly, the knights stepped away from him. The King watched him warily. “The truth is, that beast used to be a man. A man you all knew very well. A man you thought was dead!” The King paled, and sent a horrified look at the bear, who was intent on watching the knight, its dark eyes flashing.

“Do you mean, Michael?” The King asked.

“He humiliated me!” The baron roared, fighting his binds. “He was a nuisance! Disappearing all the time to turn into that – that beast and back again! And yet you still admired him the most. Oh, I wish I could have killed him, but I thought I’d never see him, as a man or a bear, ever again.”  

“Then… he can be turned back into a man?” The King asked.

“Is that your only concern?” The baron spat, making the bear – Michael – growl again and step protectively in front of the King.

“Michael, whether a man or a beast, has been more useful to me than you have ever been.” The King straightened his stance and squared his shoulders. “I hereby ban you from your kingdom, for your crimes against a fellow knight.” He directed two of his men to hoist the baron onto a horse, and take him far outside the kingdom’s borders with no regard as to where he was left. The man could go to a new land or starve for all he cared, he just knew he wanted the man far away from him, or from Michael.

The baron attempted to fight, to curse the King and his knights, all while travelling down the road and slowly out of sight. Ryan turned his attention back to the bear. “Well, surely you must know how to change back?” he asked hopefully. Michael dipped his head, and began walking towards the house that had once been his.

Ryan opened the doors, and Michael walked through, snout high in the air as he sniffed. Passing from room to room, the King’s hopes slowly dimmed like a dying candle – whatever Michael was searching for, could he find it? What if that baron had already gotten rid of whatever it was Michael needed to turn back to a man? He fretted and frowned, dutifully following Michael and opening any closed doors the creature wished to inspect.

Eventually, they found the baron’s own bedchambers. Michael nosed around, focusing on the man’s wardrobe and pawing at the door. Ryan opened it, staring into its contents. Once again, Michael began to paw at something, and Ryan took out a wooden box that sat on the bottom of the wardrobe. Opening it, he found now musty pair of nightclothes. “Are these… yours?” Michael nodded, the gesture looking quite strange on him. “Well! Put them back on and we can take you home a man!” Michael merely stared at him, and sat back on his haunches. “Michael?” The bear let out a huff, and ducked down, delicately taking the clothes into his mouth and wandering out of the room, and out of the house entirely. He deposited the clothes in a knight’s arms and began walking down the road, the way they had come. The knights asked what the King’s orders were, and though he had no idea what Michael was waiting for, or what he was meant to do, he declared that they were going back to the castle in order for Michael to transform into himself properly.

When they reached the castle, Michael took the clothes back into his mouth and found his boarded up bedchamber. The King ordered for it to be opened and prepared, desperately wishing that his guesses were correct.

Once the bedchamber was in a clean state, Michael wandered inside, and, before the King or any curious servants or knights could follow, he nosed the door shut.

“Does he want privacy, perhaps?” One of the knights supposed.

“Why would a bear need privacy?” Another asked.

“I suppose Michael always had some secrets,” The King said. “I will check on him in a few hours. And, God willing, he will be a man by then.”

Hours passed at a torturous pace, and the poor King thought he would go mad before the end of it. Michael, dear Michael, alive and living under their nose for so long! Would he even be able to transform back? He took a seat by the window in his chambers overlooking the town. He watched the sun crest, then fall, and sink beyond the sky. Then he finally rose and found his way to Michael’s room.

He quietly opened the door and nearly shouted in surprise – for there wasn’t a beast on the floor, but a man asleep in his bed!

The King quickly ran to his side and held him close, pressing a dozen kisses to his beloved knight’s face to wake him up, then another dozen more when he saw the familiar brown eyes open, and the fondly remembered mouth turn up into a smile.

“It’s you,” the King said, unable to catch his breath or still his heart. Michael did not speak at first, instead wiping the tears from his King’s eyes, and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“It is,” Michael replied, voice faint and raspy from so little use. “I’ve returned to you, my King, and this time I won’t be leaving so easily.” They shared a grin, and Ryan held Michael even tighter, promising the return of all his land, and treasures, and more gifts that could be named.

“Does this mean we’ll have to remove my statue in the town square?” Michael kidded.

“My dear,” the King said, “not only will we keep it, but we shall have entire days of celebration to honor you – and your beastly form.”

And so with the King and his knight happily reunited, the kingdom prospered, and moreover, Michael never had to hide his beastly nature from the kingdom again, and no matter what form he took on, he was always regarded as a joy for all to see.

The End.

#my fic #myan week 2017 #kings!au #myan #please enjoy #ragehappy

[yeehawdante]

Heaven on a Landslide pt. 5

June 15th, 6:12 a.m. 

Penelope walked alongside V, an uneasy silence between them save for the occasional click of his cane against the ground. Her companion was always distant, focused solely on the task of defeating Urizen. She understood, of course, the monster had ripped her son’s arm from his body and left him in a pool of his own blood. She definitely had her fair share of twisted daydreams of the demon king’s mangled corpse at her feet. 

A voice sang in the depths of her mind, quiet and mocking- chanting mercilessly the painful truth that kept her awake at night. Urizen had most likely killed Dante. As much as she tried to hold onto hope that the idiot was still hanging out in the Qliphoth, waiting to welcome her with that dumb, beautiful grin and a bone crushing hug that lifted her feet from the ground, she knew that was nothing but a childish dream. 

“Something the matter, Penelope?” V’s voice pulled her back to reality. 

“Yeah...yeah, just worried about Nero,” it wasn’t a total lie. They were on their way to meet up with her son and Nico to discuss their next move. Penelope had been away from Nero for a few days, and after spending so much time by his side, she was suffering from severe separation anxiety that she hadn’t experienced since her son was just a child. She ended up lost in a sea of thoughts yet again, consequently missing the fond smile V had given her. 

“The boy is capable, even more so with that new arm of his,” Penelope exhaled softly. 

“Yeah, thank the gods for Nico,” she laughed slightly, mindlessly fingering at the upgraded revolver strapped to her thigh. She came to a sudden stop, V colliding with her back with a grunt. He started to apologize but she pressed a finger to his lips, too busy listening for something to see his offended glare. She picked up on the sound of a sword tearing through demon flesh accompanied by a familiar potty mouth. 

The brunette quickened her pace to a jog, V hot on her heels as she turned the corner to see a giant demon taking slow, sluggish swings at her white haired son. Nero clearly had the demon on the ropes so Penelope hung back, letting him have the fun. 

V seemed to have different plans though, sending out Griffon to swoop around the brawny demon’s ugly head. Her attention was pulled to the obsidian-haired man to her left, who had his book open, preparing to quote more poetry. 

“I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe, that made my love so high, and me so low,” Penelope tuned him out, choosing to check on Nero instead of watch V treat demon hunting as if it was a play. 

“Hey, you alright?” Nero’s gaze wandered to where Shadow was practically shredding a hole through the demon’s stomach. 

“I’m good, you two are late though. Was worried I was gonna have to pick you out of his, uh, tummy teeth,” Penelope chuckled, nodding her head in the direction of her mysterious companion. 

“Pardon our delay, I was catching up on some reading,” she could see Nero fighting off the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Yeah, looks like a real page turner,” the towering root of the Qliphoth turned an ashy gray before disappearing. The white haired man turned his attention to the tree looming in the distance, a pit forming in his stomach that he elected to ignore. 

“So, uh, do you think Dante’s still in there?” 

“If Urizen defeated him, I expect he’s not much more than Qliphoth pollen by now,” Nero shot a worried glance in his mother’s direction. Dante was obviously a sensitive subject for her, both men were aware of that despite her efforts to keep her feelings hidden. It hadn’t gone unnoticed how little sleep she’d gotten in the past month, opting to stay up and flip through every demonology text Nico had on hand in an attempt to find any information on Urizen. No such luck, but that didn’t stop her from trying. 

“Well, in any case...we need to find out. If Dante’s alive, we’ll find him, if not, we don’t,” Nero started forward, eager to continue on their charted path towards the base of the Qliphoth. V stuck out his cane, stopping the eager warrior when he hooked it around his shoulder. 

“First we need to exterminate some Qliphoth roots. Your mother had quite the revelation earlier,” the younger man raised his eyebrows, silently encouraging Penelope to share her findings. 

“The Qliphoth is harvesting blood to condense into this fruit. Its power...it’s unparalleled, even Mundus himself used it to rule the Underworld. So if Urizen eats that fruit-well, we’re fucked. We need to make it take as long as possible, so if we cut off his supply-” 

“We’ll still have a chance,” Nero finished for her and she nodded quickly, “nice going ma-” his praise was cut short by the sound of an approaching van. All three devil hunter’s attention was drawn to the van squealing to a stop in front of them. Nico’s familiar freckled face leaned out the window, a welcome sight for Penelope who’d grown to miss the lethal artisan’s charm in the past few days.  

“I know, I know I’m late! Shut it! The road’s were all clogged,” she paused, “hey, V, you gonna get that? Ding, ding ding, right by your feet!” She pointed frantically, and V swiped his cane down to flick the remnants of the giant demon into her waiting hands. Penelope’s nose crinkled in disgust when Nico brought the demon piece up to her nose and inhaled deeply. Nero’s expression mirrored her own as he stepped closer to the van. 

“Did you just sniff that? You have any idea where that’s been?” 

“Up your butt?” Nero tsk’d at Nico’s childish antics. 

“Focus on the mission!” He griped before stomping onto the van. Penelope laughed to herself and shook her head, it almost felt like she had two kids at that point, the way those two argued. And the way Nico had taken to affectionately referring to her as mama. 

She followed Nero into the van, plopping down onto the couch with a relieved sigh. V’s constant need for progress was wearing down the soles of her boots quick, and she was grateful for any chance to be off of her feet. His never-ending motivation reminded her of someone long gone, a dull ache spreading through her chest in response to the stirred up memories. 

V came through the door, Shadow at his heels. Penelope smiled softly when the large cat curled up at her master’s feet like a random housecat. The van lurched forward when Nico suddenly slammed on the breaks, V clearly almost losing his balance, as they sped closer towards their next destination. 

“You should probably take a seat, I’d hate to see you fly through the windshield,” she almost felt accomplished when V actually smiled at her joke. 

“It would be quite a way to go,” he quipped as he took a seat next to her, earning a snort from the small woman. It grew harder for V to keep his distance from her with every passing day, being so close to someone you loved but having to keep them at arms length was an unfathomable kind of torture. He just had to continually remind himself that he was saving her from more pain, it will hurt enough when she finds out what he truly is, the least he could do was soften the blow. 

---------------------------------------------------

June 15th, 6:26 a.m. 

The van was parked in a mostly secure area, Penelope napping on the couch and the two men discussing their next move in the front. Nico was in the back, filling the mostly quiet van with clanking sounds and various curses. 

“I think we should split into two groups,” V stated to Nero, who had his feet up on the dash. 

“...and cover more ground, good idea,” Nero got to his feet, only to be stopped by Nico, who was proudly brandishing a new devil breaker. 

V tuned the pair out as they started to argue, placing a hand on Penelope’s shoulder to shake her awake. Her eyes shot open, a panicked look in her eyes as she warily took in her surroundings. She relaxed slightly when her eyes met with V’s, settling back into the leather cushion behind her. 

“Are you ready to head out?” She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, jumping slightly when Nico plopped down next to her. 

“Yeah, just give me a second,” she got to her feet, grabbing her jacket and stretching her arms over her head. Her arms dropped when Nico let out a whistle from behind her. 

“Damn mama, you sure you had a baby? With a smokin’ body like that?” Penelope’s cheeks were tinted pink as she turned to look at Nico. 

“Huh?” 

“I’m just saying you got a nice ass is all,” she couldn’t help but laugh at Nico’s shamelessness. V and Nero shot the tattooed woman simultaneous glares. 

“Could you not talk about my mom like that when I’m standing right here?” The young man’s face twisted up in disgust and Nico shrugged, blowing out a puff of cigarette smoke. V waved it away as he passed her, stopping in the doorway as Penelope hugged her son goodbye. 

“If we don’t see you along the way, we’ll see you at the bottom of the Qliphoth,” Penelope’s stomach sank at the possibility of waiting so long to see them again. She sucked in a deep breath as she stepped outside, the sight of the Qliphoth looming in the distance filling her with all the motivation she needed. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------

June 15th, 6:35 a.m. 

Penelope trailed behind V, the thud of her heeled boots disrupting the eerie silence of the city around them. She hated silence more than ever, her obnoxious brain hellbent on creating images of the love of her life dying in the Qliphoth while she was at home sleeping, none the wiser to the world ending around her. 

Guilt stabbed through her heart as she wondered if things had played out differently if she had pushed Dante a little harder. Something had been off about him since the moment V had given him that job, if she had just asked him about it more, put her foot down when he made her leave, if she had been awake when the Qliphoth sprouted...if...if...so many what ifs. It seemed all she had anymore were unanswered questions. 

She was startled from her thoughts when Griffon flew past her, stopping to hover beside V. Something dripped down from her eye and she hastily wiped away the  tears she didn’t know had been forming before her companion caught wind of her weakness. Lucky for her, the poet only seemed interested in the task at hand. 

“So V, do you think this kid can kill Urizen?” The pair in front of her spoke as if the ‘kid’s wasn’t walking right behind them. 

“One can only hope,” the pair of devil hunter’s came to a halt when the ground started to shake, turning to see a heap of rubble collapsing in front of the entrance to the tunnel. No turning back. V continued speaking, unbothered, “but for now, we have a more pressing engagement.” 

Shadow materialized just as they stepped out of the tunnel, growling at the incoming empusa. Penelope let out a sigh, unholstering her guns and ignoring the big mouthed bird beside her. 

She went to move on the oversized bugs when she was nearly knocked on her ass by the demon bird swooping past her, mocking his master as he cleared the area before she could even pull the hammer back on Thank You. 

“Kinda like having you around,” Penelope murmured to the bird hovering in front of her, surprised when he landed on her shoulder. 

“Yeah, you ain’t so bad yourself missy. Could put in a little more work though,” she scoffed as she started to move. 

“Oh ha-ha, you don’t leave anything for me!” V trailed behind, an affectionate smile on his face as he listened to his companions go back and forth. 

The group came up on some sort of container yard, a large group of demons closing in on them like a hungry pack of wolves. Penelope went to dash forward, her grip on Hellreaver tight, but a tattooed arm stuck out and stopped her. 

“You might want to stand back,” V said with an odd smirk. 

“Yeah sweetheart, wouldn’t want you to get turned into a Penny sandwich,” Griffon snickered and she gave the bird perched on her shoulder an odd look before a snap echoed from V’s fingers. Penelope watched in awe as V’s hair lost its inky hue, turning a color so white it made Dante’s hair look gray. A meteor crashed in the middle of the group of demons, the rock forming into some sort of on eyed creature and wiping out the remaining demons with a cruel swing of its rocky fist. The monster faded back into V’s hair once the area was clear. 

“What...the fuck was that?” V chucked softly. 

“That was Nightmare. It takes quite a bit of energy to summon him, so I use him scarcely. Much like your demon form,” her violet eyes narrowed and she put her hands on her hips. 

“How did you know I had a demon form?” The color seemed to drain from V’s face. 

“Uh-oh Shakespeare, buste-ah!” Griffon let out a surprised squawk when he was forced back into V’s arm. Penelope suddenly let out a laugh. 

“I’m just messing with you,” she giggled, lightly punching him in the shoulder, “lighten up a little, Shakespeare,” she moved on to survey the area, seemingly unaware of her companion’s gaze stuck to her. She certainly knew how to make keeping his distance...difficult. 

“Hey V, be careful up ahead. This bridge looks like it’s on its last leg. We should probably cross one at a time,” he gestured his arm out in front of him, bowing slightly in exaggerated politeness. 

“After you.” 

“Gee, thanks,” she muttered, crossing the bridge with a stressful amount of disregard for the crumbling foundation beneath her feet. She made it across nonetheless, and V let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding when she waved at him enthusiastically from across the way. 

The short brunette watched V cross the bridge, keeping a watchful eye on the ground beneath him for any signs of distress. Her heart dropped down into her stomach when the bridge started to collapse faster than she thought it possibly could, and she leapt forward, landing harshly on her chest to latch onto V’s hand. He looked up at her with wide eyes, his face twisted up in panic. 

 “Fuck, you’re way heavier than you look,” she grunted as she struggled to haul him up, rolling over to her back when he was finally safe. They didn’t have long to catch their breath before more demons appeared, Penelope let out a frustrated groan and drew her revolvers. She didn’t even bother getting up as she picked off the strays that Griffon and Shadow didn’t exterminate immediately. The demon bird landed in front of her, tutting. 

“Can’t believe I do all the work and she gets to sit on her ass,” she shot right next to the bird’s oversized talons, snickering when he soared away and disappeared into V’s intricate tattoos. The thin man approached her, offering down a hand and lifted her to her feet. 

“Thanks,” she sighed, dusting the dirt off her leather pants. 

“I suppose I owe you one.”

 “You bet your ass you do, think I dislocated my shoulder lifting your skinny ass. I don’t know how Griffon does it all the time,” V allowed himself to chuckle. Her newfound personality was definitely an acquired taste but after spending a month with her, he certainly found her charming. 

Penelope was almost relieved to find a payphone, grateful for a moment to rest her long legs. She practically shoved V to the side to get into the booth. “You have a quarter in that fancy vest of yours?” She asked, pressing the receiver to her ear. V smirked slightly before pulling out a shiny coin, placing it in her turned up palm. 

 “Something tells me I should start a tab,” she rolled her eyes at him, a smile on her face and his chest fluttered at the friendly interaction that seemingly came so easily for them. Something ate at his chest, repeating to him that he had no time for pleasantries. He didn’t have long to think before Nico’s van came barreling over top of them. V sprung into action, summoning Griffon to lift him above the van before bringing out Shadow to pounce on the van and push it to the ground. She spun to a stop just as Penelope hung up the phone and stepped out of the red booth. Her face split into a wide grin. 

“Thank god, I’m starving.” 

[nameless-blind-mute]

Zet’talen sends a hand to a broken man - Day 40

Nameless quietly alone in a meadow beside the creek. Tired and lonely feeling like hope was beginning to wain.. He rubbed his finger where he wears his Unda ring and remembered that Eru would visit him soon in his mind perhaps tonight or maybe in the morrow.. but soon. 

His focus returned to his task, his quest... how many times he called out to Zet”talen for guidance with no reply... perhaps this is just what it takes to break the pride of a Sidhe,...  it took over a month to realize that he was consumed by the greed for knowledge... perhapse Zet”talen needs time to change the mind of one so strong... oh perhapse I am failing and I am doomed to disappoint The great Zet”tallen.

Suddenly a he hears a voice of a man standing before him.

... "Baron...."    "I am a Devoted of Zett'tallan.....I mean you no harm...."

Rolynd jumped up and falls backwards cowering away hiding his face.

"For the Gods sake...." Said the Man,  He shook his head and walked over slowly, grabbing Rolynds arm.  "I have come to help you.  To help you see...." He said putting a hand on Rolynd's face, grabbing it rather forcefully before pulling his hand away.  Rolynd....he could see!  He could SEE! "This is temporary.....unless you have truly learned to see with your heart....and not these fleshy orbs in your skull...."  He said, Rolynd now seeing it was a Sidhe, with light green gems on his face dressed in green and browns.

Rolynd looked at the man and wept making grateful thanking motions with his hands, scard and bloody from bees and thorns.

"What are you DOING out here??"  He says, shaking his shoulders slightly.  "You risk your life being out here in the wilderness you know that right?  How could you be so stupid?" He sighed and let him go, sitting across from him. "I don't care if Zet'tallan has taken your name, I know you as Baron Rolynd Finien.......and you are fucking better than this....."  He shook his head looking at him.  "I don't mean to be cruel....but I think we both know that....its within our nature....to be better.  To see you reduce yourself to....this....is heartbreaking!"

Very clumsily Rolynd signs writing motions on his hand with his finger, then points to his mouth indicating he is unable to speak...

The man speaks in an irritated tone "I know perfectly well you can't speak.  I am not hear to listen to you.  I am here so that you will listen to me.....to the world!  ....But hiding out here....where no one can find you.  You are running away.  You know how long it took me to find you?  Even with Zet'tallan's help?  Too long..."  He sighed and took a deep breath, obviously trying to bite something back.  Something that Rolynd knew all to well in his Sidhe brethren. ".....You're killing yourself.....mentally for sure, and almost physically.  Its like you beg for death.  You willingly dirty yourself instead of holding your head up high and accepting this atonement with some measure of dignity.  You know you are not the only Sidhe who has had to seek atonement with Zett'tallan”

Rolynd scratches in the dirt,,, (but my pride.. must loose pride for better 4 zet”tal...” 

"There is a difference......"  He sighs, sitting there cross legged, clicking his tongue against his teeth. "When a cat loses a leg.....what does it do?"

Rolynd signs walking motion with three fingers on his palm...  

"Yeah.  It walks.  Does it mourn the loss of its leg?  Does it feel embarrassed?  No.  It may hide....for a little while, because maybe something horrible happened to it.  Maybe someone cut off its leg and now its afraid of people.  Maybe it got ran over by a wagon and now avoids wagons at all costs.  But....it keeps.....walking.  Cause to sit, wallow, and do nothing, means it dies." He points at Rolynd. "You are at risk of dying, not only physically.....but mentally as well.  That is why Zet'tallan has sent me."   He suddenly stood up and took up his staff. "You are a warrior aren't you?  So defend yourself!"

Rolynd rises to his feet slowly as his body is week from prolonged survival on little but berries and honey.

He swipes the staff at the back of Rolynd's knees and trips him, making him fall back onto the ground. "Don't get discouraged!  Get up....continue fighting.  When you were knocked own in the war thirty years ago did you weep like a babe?"  He taunted him slightly but took a couple of steps back, throwing a second staff to him.  "Where is Rolynd Finien?  Hmm?"

Rolynd uses the staff to pry himself from the ground. he points the tip towards his opponent and signs with his other hand  " me... not... break... you"

"Refusing to fight?  Or afraid you can't?"  He said, coming at him with a few swings, their staffs colliding and clinking with the sound of wood on wood before the man spun to the side and tripped him again. "I didn't say break me....I said defend yourself.  And you're doing a piss poor job.  You expect everyone to come to you pick you back up?....."  He looked at him, obviously biting back something but couldn't....as it slipped out, but maybe for the better.  Anything to spur some strong emotion from Rolynd. ".....or are you always going to lean back on people like Daddy to get your back?  Only reason you got General right?  Cause Daddy felt sorry for you?"

Rolynd closed his eyes for a moment... then without warning swung his leg at his opponents feet as he spun his body upright and swiftly delivered a blow at the mans face.  then mouthed the words.. "not my father, father no help.... I general" 

  The man went to one knee and held his face where a bruise was quickly forming, a small smirk appearing on his face before he winced from the soreness. "That's better...."  He stood up and twirled his staff in his hands, and advanced again, keeping up the banter. "There is a difference, between Pride, and Dignity.  Pride is a sense of pleasure you feel when from your own achievements.  Dignity is a state of being worthy of HONOR and RESPECT!"  He grunted and  moved the staff out of the way, and punched Rolynd across the face, cracking his knuckles afterwards. "Sidhe Pride...is by far the strongest of all the races.  Cause we were born that way.....we didn't even have a choice."  He takes a couple of steps back to let him gain his composure.  "But its not....bad....unless you let it get the better of us.  Your pride got SO BAD that you couldn't even bare another to see you in this sorry shape.  Because in your mind....you had lost everything.  Instead of walking.....you hid.  You torture yourself...."

Rolynd motions and mimes, " I ... Walk,,,," and points in a big circle..   " I walk.. I cry out... beg for ..." he taps his temple and mouths wisdom...  then points to the sky as he mouths zet"talen... As his oponents eyes rise to see where Rolynd is pointing he quickly closes the gap with a Jstep and twists his staff between the mans feet landing him on his back. then steps away to a safe distance

The Devoted did a kick up back to his feet and dashed at Rolynd, their staffs clinking loudly as they fought, and then locked up. "Trust me!  As a Devoted, sometimes the answers don't just COME to you.  Sometimes you have to find the answers for yourself."  He spun around him, but Rolynd kept up this time and then continued fighting, dodging and parrying each other's blows as they got into a rhythm. "I can show you.  Even at your lowest, you can still maintain your dignity.  No eyes, no tongue....a mild set back."  He leapt back after Rolynd took a very wide swing, and he quickly showed off by spinning the staff around his body and advancing again. "Zet'tallan took your eyes, so that you would see with your heart!"  He locked their staffs together again, pushing against him as their strengths tried to over power the other.  "I will take you to a village, where you will know true kindness, NOT pity." "Zet'tallan wanted you with no tongue, so you would listen!"  He managed to clock Rolynd on the back of the head.  "Cause lets face it, what Sidhe doesn't love the sound of their own voice.  Also our Would you Kindly's is kind of cheating...."  He smirked playfully.

Rolynd staggers with the blow while rubbing his head, then turns...  he signs with passion "you... think... I.... no... take ,,,, zet”talens... words... in... my... heart?   you think I not  listen to zettalen?" Rolynds shoulders drop with sadness,  " you .. not ... know ... me..."

"....you're right....I don't know you, not personally, only by reputation."  He sighed, swinging the staff around behind his back, standing there, looking at the man. "But what you misunderstand....is that he wanted you to meet other people.  Feel them, be with them, hear THEM.  To cast aside your pride and to listen to others.  Hear children playing in the streets....to listen to a woman crying after her husband has beaten her.  To drink with your fellow man in the bar and listen to their tales.  You are so caught up in your own world and with the few people you keep close, that you have ignored everyone else around you."  

He sighed and walked forward, but seemed to still be at the ready, outstretching a hand and placing it on his shoulder. "You have been up in your tower for a long time little Prince.  Because your father put you there.  Because your birthright put you there.  Yes, your destiny is to rule over the Fairfolk, to guide them if you prefer.  But tell me.....do you feel like you have any of your subjects respect?  Like actual....loyalty....and respect?"  

He raised an eyebrow, looking at Rolynd's facial expression. "....maybe a couple....and maybe that's enough.  But the fact is you are out here....because you hurt people.  You let your megalomania to get in the way.  And TRUST ME.....you are not the only one to have done so.  The point of this....is to realize that you made a mistake.  Even beings of perfection and blessed by the stars can make mistakes and YES....it HURTS ME.....to say that.  But its true....."

Rolynd lowers his staff and posture... "What... what can I do... I hurt people yes... I hold mistake... but what now... how do i ?" there is a long pause as he searches for the way to communicate his thoughts... "How do I... Fix... Wraiths? monsters... hurt people? I will not have house... no (he makes archery motion while mouthing Eru)... he makes a crown sign arround his head and mouths brea... Kill me for loosing her Children to death door""I have nothing now... I have nothing when i return... just my heart, mind and sword." 

"And that is ENOUGH!"  He said, smiling as he took Rolynd's shoulders and shook them slightly.  "Don't you see?  That's all you need to start a journey. You got mugged....BIG time.  You got struck down, big time.  But you have the opportunity to start again.  This time...on your terms."  He let him go and put his hands on his hips. "That's why he took your name....so you can be who you want to be.  Do you really want to be the blind begger who hides his face from the world?  Or a Sidhe, a person of the people?  You made a mistake....time to get up on that horse....and try again.  The horse may continue to buck you off, but you gotta keep trying..." He came to Rolynd's side and put an arm over his shoulders. ".....sometimes....it is possible to commit no errors....and still lose.  BUT...that is not weakness.  That's just life...."  He smiled, patting Rolynd's shoulder.

Rolynd shrugs him off his shoulder.. and signs.. " I fight with my soldiers not behind.... I give work and.... honor to others... try to protect weak... listen to words of little somnia and gemna  as same... I don't understand how I not..... Sidhe of people"

The man responds compassionately "I meant now.  Don't think about before.  Think about the now.  When you look behind you see your footprints, and those marks you have made upon the land and the people do not go away.  You can learn from the past and the paths you have walked, but you need to focus on the now.  Now.....what do you want to be.....right now?"

Rolynd waves his hands about in frustration "yes,,.. but Zet"talen speaks me to change not do same..... I be .... (He reaches down and pulls up some sprigs of grass and singles out a fresh shute) I be new... better than old... but I only know old,,, dont know new me, new sidhe" He lowers his head "I am poured out on ground and empty."

The man takes him by the shoulder once again "I meant now.  Don't think about before.  Think about the now.  When you look behind you see your footprints, and those marks you have made upon the land and the people do not go away.  You can learn from the past and the paths you have walked, but you need to focus on the now.  Now.....what do you want to be.....right now?"

"yes,,.. but Zet"talen speaks me to change not do same..... i be .... (he reaches down and pulls up some sprigs of grass and singles out a fresh shoot) I grow new... better than old... but i know old,,, dont know new me, new sidhe""I am poured out on ground and empty."

"Only because you chose to be that way Rolynd...."  He sighed, feeling like they were moving backwards now.  "You gotta keep moving forward.  You're thinking about this all too hard...." He sighed and kicked at the ground a moment. "And I can only help so much....only what you let me.  But you must also know how to help yourself.  Now think.  How can you come back from this a better person?"

Rolynd stares at the man blankly....  " my heart wants to win.. and be new. to save the people, love the people... my mind...  I not know how"  he points in a large circle again... "where? how?  you point... I go"

The man points in a direction towards a nearby town. Rolynd now able to see the dirt on his cloths walks over to the creek disrobes and begins to scrub off the stains with coarse sand against the rocks until they are somewhat clean enough to wear.... he motions for the man to come beside him as he works on the stains. As the man approaches Rolynd kneels before him and mouths in whispers  "Take my eyes if you must", "I see enough without them... can survive"....

#larplife #rpgstory #revelations #chronicle #attonement #larp #roleplay