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skzdarlings · 2 months

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bodyguard: the first guard | part one | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh's daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. please note this story will contain a great deal of physical violence, some committed against the reader and some committed by her. this will include fighting, training, torture, and parental abuse. there will also be explicit sexual content. chapter word count: 7500 words.

enjoy <3

B E F O R E

Felix takes his place in formation. He is the youngest in the youth regiment at only ten years old, but he is no less competent. They all belong to the same special-ops program, a group of specially selected children raised for armed service. They are in the employ of Mister Miroh – and he says they will save the world.

The world is full of shadows, dank black holes and grimy stains so embedded that no regular agent can scrub them out. The young subjects of the soldier program are not regular agents. Their existence is their mission.

Felix has no life outside of the house of Miroh.

He stands straight. He looks forward. His feet are the appropriate width apart and his hands are folded behind his back. He holds this position as the trainers scour the lined formation, studying the young soldiers and reprimanding any flaw.

They need the best soldier for this mission. This is the most important assignment the regiment will ever receive. Felix has trained his whole life for this.

“Miroh has many enemies,” speaks the head trainer. It is a familiar speech, more important now than ever. “But our target is his local rival. This enemy family has been a corrupting force for generations, taking through inheritance what it has not earned. Miroh is not like The Enemy. Miroh is a solider like you. He came from nothing, fought for scraps, and built his own business one brick at a time. He understands the world and he will fix it through you. You will be his hands in the places he cannot reach. Your role is an honourable one.”

A trainer passes Felix. Felix straightens his spine that last infinitesimal degree. They touch his shoulder but do not reprimand him. It makes his pulse hammer with anticipation.

Felix is one of the best. There is a possibility they will pick him, if only because the actual best has a habit of—

“Oh, cheer up, mate,” Chris’s voice comes from a few rows back. “You know what they say: all work and no play makes—”

He is interrupted by a whoosh of air, probably a trainer punching him in the stomach. Felix closes his eyes so he does not wince.

“Bang Christopher Chan,” the head trainer says, his voice booming across the facility floor. “Step forward.”

Felix hears a frustrated sigh, then Chris stomps through the lines to reach the front row. Everyone looks at him.

He is an unassuming character. Not very tall but deceptively strong. Curly black hair and dimpled cheeks. Felix remembers that smile, the lilting and friendly, “Call me Chris,” when Felix was just six years old and first thrown into the regiment.

Bang “Call Me Chris” Chan is the best soldier here. Or he would be, if he did not hate the honour.

Even now he is glaring. Like the rest of them, he is dressed in combat clothes, the pitch black of Miroh. Unlike the rest of them, he stands with a lazy hunch in his shoulders. His dark hair is dishevelled and he scowls like a petulant teenager. He is thirteen going on fourteen but he is far from a normal teenage boy. Even compared to the rest of them, Chris is something special.

“Bang Chan,” the head trainer says. “You have been chosen for this assignment. Congratulations.”

Felix is not surprised. When Chris is forced to apply himself, it is abundantly clear he is the best soldier in the program by a huge margin. Felix is also not surprised when Chris responds with his usual verve and ire.

“Yeah, uh, you can go ahead and shove your congratulations up your ass, mate,” Chris says. He crosses his arms stubbornly. “Even if we kill this guy, do you really expect us to believe that’s the end of it? You’re putting us in the middle of a fight we didn’t start.”

He addresses the soldiers behind him just as much as the trainer. He even glances at Felix who glares back at him, unimpressed with the rebellious dramatics. Chris never learns. He gets more chances than the rest of them because he is so good. If he wanted, he could be unstoppable. He could use his strengths for good.

Instead, he just looks at the trainer and shakes his head.

“Nah,” Chris says. “You started this fight. I’m not ending it.”

A few of the adult guards move towards him. The gathered soldiers take a collective breath, watching with anticipation. It is common knowledge that thirteen year old Bang Chan can take a regular adult guard in a matter of seconds. When it comes to Chris, the question is not who will win, but will he fight at all?

He stands there like he has no intention of fighting. But before anyone can grab him, the door opens.

Miroh enters.

The room is so tense and silent, his footsteps reverberate like thunder. Miroh is every inch a soldier even in his blazer and tie. He walks with purpose, his face intent.

Walking behind him, keeping decent pace despite her smaller frame, is his daughter.

Miroh is a fighter who does not believe in unearned inheritance, so his daughter is trainee soldier like the rest of them. She is the same age as Chris. She trains with the regiment, one of the better agents, but she was not in contention for this particular job. People have tried to kill The Enemy before and it did not work, resulting in the death of innocents. Miroh wants a strong heir and he is not above putting her through the same grueling regime as the rest of them, but he will not recklessly risk her life.

It is fair to Felix. Miroh’s world makes sense. He believes in it. He believes in him.

So he is rapt as Miroh approaches.

The adult guards fall back and the young soldiers stand at attention. Miroh’s jaw is set with grim determination. He stares at Chris.

Chris drops his crossed arms. He is smart enough not to run his mouth at Miroh directly, but his frustration is clearly simmering beneath the surface. His fingers curl and uncurl in little fists.

Miroh stands in front of him. He speaks loud enough to address the entire room.

“I do not begrudge your desire for information,” Miroh says. “You’re soldiers, not animals. I acknowledge that you wish to know about the long-term goals for this company. But that is not your job or your purpose. This business is deliberately compartmentalized so if one cog in the machine fails, the apparatus does not cease to function. The results of your missions speak for themselves. What we’re doing is good work. That is all that matters.”

“Says you,” Chris blurts. Even he looks surprised by his own retort, though he does not take it back. He looks Miroh in the eye.

Miroh looks back. Then he reaches into the holster beneath his long coat and draws a gun. It is smooth, second-nature. Miroh is used to getting his hands dirty. His steady hand points the gun at Chris.

The trigger has not been pulled but the trainers already flinch. They know Chris is the best and they have worked hard to shape him, even if his stubborn mind is not molded as easily as his body.

Chris, himself, does not flinch. He stares down the barrel, unrelenting.

“You don’t want to do that.”

The soft interjection makes everyone pause. Heads turn and eyes dart, everyone’s attention transferring to the thirteen year old girl in the shadows.

Miroh does not lower the gun but he looks at his daughter. Chris looks at her too. Felix is not sure who is more bewildered.

The girl, herself, is calm. She has indubitably mastered a stoic countenance, not a hint of emotion anywhere on her young face.

“He’s the First Guard,” she states simply. “This is not worth killing him over.”

The First Guard. The other kids in the regiment sometimes call Chris that, though he doesn’t like it so it is usually behind his back. Chris does not like that he has been singled out. Chris does not like anything about the program.

This is Miroh’s second attempt at the youth soldier program. The operation raises soldiers from childhood to fight, to withstand pain, to feel no fear. This training is supplemented with medical treatments, hormonal injections that are only effective if administered in the crucial developmental years of childhood. It aids in building a body for soldiership, to take a hit just a little harder than most.

Chris is the only survivor from the first round of injections. He survived every test that followed. He is stronger for it, even stronger than the rest of them. He is a singular asset. He will never be replicated.

Thanks to The Enemy, none of them will ever be replicated. The Enemy recently attempted to recruit Miroh’s developers and killed them when he did not succeed. Detailed knowledge of the treatment died with them.

Miroh can never accomplish anything with his enemy on perpetual offense. Felix knows the stories like the rest of them, the generations of corruption wrought by a single wealthy family with its iron fist wrapped around the country’s throat. Miroh wants to free them. Felix knows if they kill this one man, if the household is left to rot in the hands of its weak successor, then Miroh can finally set everyone free.

It is a noble honour.

Chris does not see it that way. He never has. Maybe it is different for him, having watched those other children die. Felix understands it was a sacrifice, but a necessary one. The Enemy cannot be killed by a regular soldier. So many more innocents will die if he is left unchecked. Surely that is worth the price of a few soldiers. Wars have casualties. It will be worth it.

It has to be worth it.

Bang Chan, the First Guard – call me Chris – takes a deep breath. It sounds frustrated. He glares at Miroh’s daughter who is unaffected.

Felix looks between them. Then his gaze lands on another soldier in the formation. Seo Changbin is in the first row, a boy one year older than Felix. Not the best soldier, not second best, but not the worst. His most notable trait is his humour and his friendship with Miroh’s daughter. They are close – at least as close as anyone can be down here.

Changbin is looking at her right now, his gaze searing with intensity. Their eyes meet briefly and he shakes his head, a small motion, just enough for her to see. Despite his clear warning to stop, she is not dissuaded from addressing her father.

“With all due respect, sir,” she says to Miroh, “Eliminating Bang Chan would be a mistake. He’s the best soldier in the operation.”

“The best,” Miroh says. He presses the barrel of the gun against Chris’s forehead. Chris goes tense and everyone takes a breath.

His daughter is still unmoved. She is a quiet character in general. Felix has barely heard her speak never mind argue. She keeps her head down and goes about her work obediently. She is a good daughter and a better soldier.

Maybe that is why Miroh hesitates.

“He is not the best if this is how he conducts himself,” Miroh says.

“Father, aren’t you the best at what you do?” she asks without hesitation. “Surely a proper soldier like you should be able to control a little boy. Are you saying you are not capable of that task? It takes no skill to shoot a teenager. What message do you send to the rest of us if you have to resort to desperate measures to keep your own army in line?”

The silence is deafening. Even with a gun plastered to his forehead, a little dimple of amusement pops in Chris’s cheek. Changbin exhales. Felix is sick of standing still but he holds his form despite the growing tension.

The seconds feel like hours. Eventually, Miroh lowers the gun.

“Guards,” he says. The adult guards are immediately at his side. “My daughter has faith in our order. I would be remiss as a father to fail her.” He looks down at Chris and speaks with a snarl in his upper lip, “Let us all try our best to succeed.”

Miroh snaps his fingers and points at Chris. The guards swarm him, two of them taking an arm each. At least Chris is smart enough not to struggle. He is an indomitable force but he does not have an army at his call. He lets himself be seized.

“Take him to the Cell,” Miroh says.

An instinctive hiss leaves the mouths of a few soldiers. They have all been trained to withstand various degrees of torture, but the Cell is one of the worst. Even Felix shudders at the mention of it. It is a small windowless room buried deep in the bunker of the training facility, a small prison cell with no light and no warmth. Everyone has taken a turn in isolation, camped on the hard ground in the damp and cold and dark. Down there, minutes feel like days, days like years. At least literal torture causes sensation. The Cell is a great black nothing.

Chris does not argue, knowing it would be useless, but he does glare at Miroh as he is hauled away.

“Take her too,” Miroh says.

With a snap of his fingers, two more guards surface and grab his daughter. Her stoic expression finally fractures, true surprise bursting on her face.

“Me?” she asks.

“As my daughter, your perspective is acknowledged and appreciated,” he says. “As a soldier, you need to remember your place. Throw them in together. Double the people, double the time.”

Felix would not want to be shoved in that tiny space with another person. Certainly not if the trade was double the duration.

But then, Felix does not like company. He does not understand the exhausted look on Changbin’s face. Changbin isn’t being punished, so why would he feel anything?

Felix watches. He holds his form even where others begin to wane.

The guards and their prisoners leave. The door closes and Miroh looks over the regiment.

“Who’s the second best?” Miroh asks.

There is a beat of silence, the scene settling. The trainer finally clears his throat and looks down at his papers.

“Lee Felix Yongbok,” he says in that booming voice. Felix’s heart soars just as high. “Step forward.”

Felix marches forward, keeps his eyes ahead. Miroh approaches him. Felix does not flinch, not even when Miroh circles him like prey.

“He’s young,” Miroh says. “What do you have to say for yourself, boy?”

“I want to do good,” Felix answers. “I’m ready.”

They put a gun in his hand and a beanie on his head. He enters the world looking like a normal ten year old boy.

He puts a bullet in the head of The Enemy.

He suspects one day he will be back for the son and granddaughter.

He hopes it will be soon.

P R E S E N T D A Y

Despite your father’s remarkable propensity for making you feel like a child, you are a grown adult. You are intelligent and conniving and dangerously competent. In some ways, having been raised like a soldier beneath his merciless iron fist, you are more steadfast, more severe. Your life is carved into his, your fates tethered as one to his success. You are your father’s daughter, a Miroh, irrevocably a product of his upbringing.

You do not show weakness. You do not throw tantrums. You might spend twenty minutes in the lobby bathroom, splashing cold water on your face, and you might spend another five minutes shining your shirt buttons, then ten more folding and re-folding the lapel of your long coat – but walking into his office almost forty minutes late is not the same thing as throwing a tantrum.

You think you’re composed until you walk through that door, then the week’s anxieties expand in the cage of your chest. You are capable but you are not stupid. Miroh might be your father but he is a totalitarian man of influence and it would be foolish not to be wary of his power.

You are more apprehensive than you appear, but you march in there like a soldier, shoulders back and head high. You inherited your father’s marble expressions and stone stature. No one would ever guess your palms were so clammy, your neck hot and damp with sweat.

“I’m here,” you say by way of greeting. You are not characters to indulge in artificial small talk. There is no affection here and pretending otherwise is a waste of everyone’s time.

“I won’t bother with pre-amble,” he says, predictably. ”You know why you’re here.”

“I do,” you say. “And I don’t agree with it.”

“I know you don’t.”

The argument ends just like that. You knew it was a dead-end protestation before you opened your mouth, but you had to say something. You are adamantly opposed to your father’s latest imposition.

A personal, twenty-four hour bodyguard. For you.

The decision was not made lightly. Your father’s business rival perished just under a month ago, the bloody circumstances extreme and mysterious. Until Miroh can ascertain what truly transpired at that house on that fateful night, then he cannot be too careful when it comes to guarding his own legacy.

Your father is a military tactician and business man. He is in the habit of bracing for every eventuality with a detached, pragmatic determination. Of course he wants you watched. This bodyguard assignment is imperative in protecting his house.

“I have a security team,” you say.

“They are insufficient,” he replies.

“I trained them myself.”

“They are too numerous.”

“I’ll cut down the roster.”

“Rotations open vulnerabilities.”

“And who’s to replace them?” Your patience snaps. “One of your dogs?”

“You are also one of my dogs,” he says, voice soft for such a venomous retort. It stings like a slash across your chest. “I would not disparage them.”

“Oh, of course, my apology.” You speak with the same false gentility. “What a thoughtful master you are.”

“I must be,” he says, “because the dogs still come when I call.”

There is so much contempt in his voice. He looks at you with more hatred than he ever directed to his worst enemy. It makes you want to leap across this room and throttle him with your bare hands, like you can shake the animosity right out of him.

You are too old to feel like a little girl on the verge of tears, demanding to know why her father does not love her. You have long since accepted there is no easy answer to that question. You would say that Miroh is simply not capable of love but you know that is not true. He can love. He just doesn’t love you.

You are the perfect heir, his exact replica in ability and countenance, but it is not enough. It will never be enough. No matter what you do, no matter how faithfully you obey him. You have bloodied your hands in the shadows while he takes the public credit. You have helped build the reputation of the family name. You have given him everything.

He rewards you with this.

You are not stupid. Regardless of his excuses, he does not want you under surveillance for your protection. You both know your personal training puts you leagues ahead of the overwhelming majority of agents. Your security team is a superfluous accessory as is.

Miroh has just witnessed the collapse of a previously impenetrable legacy. This does not put him at ease. The battle technician accounts for every possible manoeuvre. You know he foresees his own downfall just as easily as he sees his success. Unseated before his time, reputation annihilated, replaced by someone as savage and persistent as him.

A bodyguard will not protect you from the world. It will protect Miroh from you.

For all your inner turmoil, you are a steadfast rock, standing across your father in his office and exchanging a knowing glance. You are just like him. Of course he is scared of you. Of course he hates you. Of course he needs you.

The feeling is devastatingly mutual.

“Who is it?” you ask, calmly.

“Agent Slump, step forward,” your father calls one of the guards posted at the back wall. “This is your new bodyguard officer. He will accompany you at all times, day and night, including your office hours and service train—”

The agent steps forward as your father speaks. You draw your gun out of your chest holster and shoot when the man steps into your periphery. It blows through his shoulder and knocks him down, all in a piercing shriek that reverberates around the small room. The other guards flinch in the ringing aftermath.

You look at your father and re-holster your gun. You lay the lapel of your long coat back over your chest.

“He leaves something to be desired,” you say. “I would have thought you learned your lesson with these undertrained toy soldiers. Maybe a better bodyguard would have kept your wife alive.”

Your own mother died during complications in childbirth. Miroh remarried a few years later, a woman he genuinely seemed to cherish, a woman who was killed in retaliation for a deal gone sour. Nothing fills your father with more righteous fury than the mention of her. Miroh loved her almost as much as he hates you.

You know better than to retaliate with such childish rejoinders, but you want to hit him where it hurts, see something real on that stoic face. It garners you a flicker of rage, bathed in all that loathing, and it makes you smile.

“Let me know if you can find a competent replacement,” you say. “Until then, I have work to do.”

You turn heel and march to the door. The guards move out of your way despite lack of command. They have never respected you the way they respect your father, but they do fear you and it works the same way.

You are dressed for the office but after an unproductive hour spent stewing in agitation, you give up. The head of your security team accompanies you across town to the primary training facilities. Hidden in plain site, here Miroh has trained and developed some of his most deadly assets.

You are one of those assets. You spent your childhood in this facility, training among an elite selection of children, raised for the purpose of violence and victory. It was a unique program. It has never been revived, the medicant administered to the children lost and yet to be replicated.

You are one of the few still living.

Your training was relatively more lax. As Miroh’s daughter, the trainers could not let you die. But neither he nor they had qualms with letting you suffer. Miroh never admonished them and you never complained, at the time naively thinking that if you could prove yourself then he would care about you.

A foolish aspiration long since abandoned.

But the training has served you well over the years. It certainly comes in handy when you need to fucking punch something.

Your security team is comprised of regular soldiers so it does not take much to best them in a fight. The exertion is nonetheless liberating. You have always felt more at ease in action than behind a desk. Combat clothes are less stifling than formalwear. There is a reason Miroh never paraded you at parties the way his late enemy did with his late daughter. Your place is in a fight and always has been.

After a few rounds in the ring, you stop to rest. Your team knows when to leave you alone to brood. You lay back on the mat, flat in the ring.

There is a moment, as often passes, where you question your entire life. It has been a long, vicious fight, clawing your way to your position, that the road back out seems like an impossibly arduous task. Too much has happened, too much pain and loss. It has to mean something.

You cannot surrender now. The very thought has you reeling, physically painful to even consider.

This is where you belong. It is an irrevocable truth. You are a Miroh.

“Yah, murder princess,” comes a voice and the thud of booted steps. “Just three rounds? Tsk. You’re getting soft.”

You roll over, grinning even though you know better. You look up at Changbin who is dressed in similar fatigues, his bulky arms crossed over his broad chest, his dark bangs brushing his smirking face.

“I was waiting for a real fight,” you reply. “Looks like I’m still waiting.”

He barks out a laugh.

Changbin is one of the few survivors of your father’s special-ops program. Unlike others who were imported from your father’s overseas operations, Changbin was raised right here alongside you. You do not even remember meeting him; he has just always been there.

He is a few years younger but he always held your attention, both because of his skill and his ability to retain a sense of humour. It was an often sought breath of relief in the conditions of your training.

You look at Changbin now, grinning and more jovial than someone like him should be. It is a testament to his resolute strength that he can hold a dual personality inside him. He has always been that way. He can flip between a stoic soldier and goofy guy in the blink of an eye. It is part of the reason you have never let yourself entirely trust him. Though you are fond of him, he is like you: just a little too good at what he does.

“Haha, the princess thinks she’s a comedian now,” Changbin says. He nudges you with the tip of his boot. “If you want to make me laugh, you should try fighting.”

“Oh, I see.” You cannot help but rise to his bait, like always. He is a perpetual little brother even though he is not your real brother and certainly not little anymore.

You swipe at him and he jumps back. Just like that, the pair of you fall into a long practiced dance.

It is not the gentle footwork of a real dance, but a violent collision and parry of limbs. It is just as musical and in sync, and somehow almost as tender. You know each other’s weaknesses as well as strengths. You know how to beat each other and how to prolong surrender, where to give advantage so the other can continue. You used to fight until the trainers called a tie, saving you both from selection for the loser’s punishment. To everyone else, it looked like a fight. To you, it was a conversation and consolation. Even if you had been in solitude for weeks, in that moment you were not alone.

Changbin reads you now, in every swipe and jump and dodge. In your matching black clothes and matching strength you collide and converse. Your frustration strains in every vein and his enquires are plain in the deliberate pause of his complicated steps.

“Daddy problems, ah, murder princess?” he asks, grinning.

He catches your fist before it collides with that smirk, twisting your wrist so you are forced to follow with a heavy drop. You roll together, a back and forth until you individually spring to your feet and face each other. You wait for the next move with equal calculation.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you say, batting a hit.

“Really?” he asks. “Because there are rumours in the pig pen that the general was looking for a big strong soldier to protect his little princess.”

He lets you clock his jaw but it is a satisfying smack nonetheless. A drop of aggravation is wrung out with your sweat. You wipe your brow.

“There was a change of plans,” you say.

Changbin laughs. He is loud, always so loud for someone who can be so stealthy.

“Of course!” he shouts. “Keeping the doctors busy today, are you?”

He really knows you too well. It is mutual. You side-step a movement and body-check him.

“Guess that’s what the general gets for choosing from the pig pen,” you say. You infuse your father’s title with all the sardonic venom it deserves and pig pen with the same playful mockery as always.

“Don’t be jealous,” Changbin teases right back, catching your taunt as easily as he catches your punch. “If you keep practicing, one day you might be almost as good as me.” He has been making the same wisecrack for years, laughing to himself every single time.

“Funny,” you say dryly.

“I am the best,” he continues to tease, embellishing his movements with an unnecessarily dramatic flair. “I’m sure that’s why the general doesn’t want me on bodyguard duty, right? I need a real job, not protecting the princess.”

There are a few rapid-fire moves, too taxing for speech. Then you manage, “Right.” You take his offered opening and catch the back of his knee with yours. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with your probation after the last field mission.”

You expect to take him down but you do not expect the weight of his crash. It is not like Changbin to fully collapse under you, almost like he was truly surprised.

You are just as dazed by the impact. You loom over him, staring bemusedly, like you have no idea how he got on the floor.

It is not like Changbin to take a hit so personally. Of all your father’s soldiers, he was always the best at shrugging off his individuality in favour of a mission. He does not tend to dwell on his losses anymore than he lingers in his victories. The past is a heavy thing to carry into battle. He knows to leave it behind. There is always another job around the corner.

“You’re not still upset about that?” you ask.

The mission was shortly before the enemy’s downfall. Years ago, one of your father’s child soldiers betrayed an operation. Lee Felix switched sides and the enemy did not let your father forget it. But Miroh is an ever-calculating general who knows which battles are worth fighting. After one failed attempt at seizing the enemy’s daughter, he waited until the enemy came to him instead.

When he finally did, you caught him. You sent Changbin after his daughter and waited for the enemy’s imminent surrender. He retracted his operation but Felix, that loose canon of a traitor-turned-bodyguard, fucked the Mirohs a second time and disappeared with her. They all died a week later.

Changbin was noticeably uneasy after the job, but you did not think much of it. You were not worried about Changbin taking the mission too personally. Yes, Felix was a former soldier in this regiment, but Changbin is not sentimental. You chalked up his despondency to his loss. It is not like him to let a target slip through his fingers.

“Upset,” Changbin says. “Me?”

You know him too well. The joking tone is diminished, buried beneath the weight of his gloom. He tries to smile but it does not fit on his face, too big and too wide of a grin.

You tip your head, your regard scrutinous. You have no idea how to talk to him with real depth. You look at each other and understand it, but vocalizing it is another matter entirely.

Like he can read your thoughts, his face scrunches up and he says, “Yah, you, cut that out!” He shoves you as he gets to his feet, both of you stumbling. “I’m fine,” he says. “Come on, hit me again.”

You are certainly better at conversing that way.

You take a starting stance but you are interrupted when someone from your security team whistles. It is a warning whistle, the sharp tone a code for the arrival of your father.

You and Changbin straighten, turning to watch as Miroh approaches with a flank of armed guards behind him. They are all dressed for combat in their black uniforms and black masks. The half-mask is regulation for all field agents. It covers the bottom half of the face and serves as protection in the event of smoke from explosions or exposure to noxious aerosols and gasses.

It also undoubtedly turns a human soldier into a less-than-human figure. It obscures features, faces, flaws.

Sharp eyes stare at you, every face uniform and expressionless. There are half a dozen of them. Your father’s usual security detail trails behind them. Your security team eyes them in turn. The whole room feels like a pot about to boil over.

“What is this?” you demand.

“This is my adherence to our agreement,” your father says.

“Our agreement?” you ask.

“Yes.” He stops in the middle of the room, standing straight and steady. He looks at ease, like he barges in here with a small army every day. “You tasked me to find a competent replacement bodyguard,” he says. “So here is how this will go: whichever agent can beat you in a fight, right here, right now, will be your new bodyguard. If you defeat them all, I will drop the issue and leave the matter of your personal security to you.”

You look at his soldiers then at him. You force yourself to composure. It is not like you to instigate so much confrontation. You prefer to keep your head down and get the job done. Your father does not love you but he knows your work is reliable. Usually that is enough.

This entire escapade with the enemy has unravelled everyone. The house of Miroh should be more stable than ever, your father taking over assets left behind by the enemy, but the whole world feels changed. It is off its axis. You feel unsteady, your body braced for attack with no reprieve. You feel like you are looking at the world through someone else’s eyes. Everything feels wrong.

In difficult times, you fall back on training and soldier instinct. You are a battle technician, just as competent as your father. He is not going to drop the issue and this is a fair compromise. You can fight these guards. Half a dozen well-trained field agents is a handful but not impossible. Your body is built to be a little faster, a little stronger, to take a hit harder.

“Fine,” you say, a single grating syllable. You bite the word. Through clenched teeth, you add, “Let’s do this.”

You and Changbin exchange a look. He reflects your confusion, knowing you can easily take these guards, knowing Miroh knows that too. It makes you feel even more uneasy. Your father must be planning something but you do not know what. But you cannot control him. You can only control yourself. You can fight these guys. You can win.

You take a swig of water then stretch. The first guard takes a position in the fighting ring. You brace yourselves with a starting stance, measuring the other.

You wait, sweat dripping down your brow. You feel their eyes on you, every soldier, your father, your friend. Changbin stands off to the side, sitting in shadows.

It is where your kind belongs. You are not regular soldiers.

The fight begins and you take him down swiftly. Your game with Changbin was just that, a game. This is real. This is a battle. This is what your body was made to do.

One by one, you take out the agents. They charge at you, they swing at you, they even try to taunt you. You deflect it all. Your fist connects with a temple, your foot their knee. You pop joints and flip soldiers and springboard back to action.

You are getting tired by the last soldier but you do not let it show. You sweat profusely, breathing hard, but you run at him and take him down. Your bodies are a swirl of limbs and powerful movements. Then he is on the ground, groaning, and you are rising, victorious.

“Well?” you say. You cannot help but grin, elated from the sheer exertion of exercise, and proud of your triumph. There is a small, stupid part of you that hopes underneath everything, your father is proud too. That he must relent and admit you are good.

Miroh just stands there, unmoving and unaffected. It dims your smile, frustration returning. It simmers hot beneath your skin. It distracts you.

Pain explodes in your left cheek, so sharp and searing it turns the world dark for half a second. You see lightning flashes as you stumble, falling onto your side. There is another guard in front of you, one you did not even see enter the room. Did he drop down from the ceiling?

He is a blurry shape. You blink the stars out of your eyes, holding your throbbing head until clarity returns.

Then your stomach drops.

It is not a guard looming over you. He wears the same black combat uniform and the same half-mask, but everything about him is different, everything from his build to his stance to the ice cold slash of his dark eyes. Emotionless. Empty.

“Ah, I see,” you say, a breathless slur of words. You cannot stop your voice from shaking. “The First Guard. I should have known.”

There are only two living soldiers who can fight at your level. The only two survivors of your father’s special-ops program. One of them is Seo Changbin.

The other is Bang Christopher Chan.

He stands over you in his combat gear, unflinching and barely human. Even without the mask, you doubt you would see any humanity. There is not a single shred of the boy he once was. Chan was a problem for Miroh, once. That was a very long time ago.

That boy, Chris, is dead. He has been dead for years. The soldier in front of you is someone – something – else.

You get to your feet, slowly and shakily. He watches you. He does not speak and he barely blinks, his gaze a meticulous perusal, his body braced for anything.

Chan has the bloodiest, dirtiest hands of them all. He does your father’s worst missions, assignments with details that even you are barred from knowing. He is terrifyingly efficient, deadlier than any weapon in Miroh’s arsenal, and that is saying something because it is a substantial arsenal.

Your own hands are dirty but it is nothing in comparison. He is fast, he is deadly, and he feels nothing. He looks at you like a machine scans a calculation. A broken bone here, a fracture there. You are certain he is already picturing a hundred different ways to contort your broken body.

“Right,” you say.

You are a strategist. You know how to fight. You know when not to fight. But it is like instinct. You look at him and something says fight him.

You feel your father’s eyes on you. You are not sure who is teaching who a lesson.

You take a swing at Chan. He dodges it. He swings too, faster, but you anticipate it. You tuck and roll, moving faster than you have ever moved in your life. You are seldom pushed to the brink of your abilities like this. Even half your skillset is double what most adversaries possess.

But Chan is too much. You spend the fight on constant defense, blocking swing after swing, hit after hit. You take advantage of the smallest opening and crack your fist on his chest, only to realize he deliberately opened himself to it. He grabs your wrist and twists you around before you can retaliate. You are not used to such brute strength. You follow his twisting to prevent a sprain or fracture, which he anticipates. He grabs you by the throat and yanks you into him, right off your feet.

You choke, blue swarming your rapidly blurring vision. He slams you down on the ground, further disorienting you, still clutching your neck.

You dive somewhere deep inside your head. You collect yourself as per your training, then swing your knee up between his legs. It does not fully incapacitate him but it does discombobulate him. He lets go of your throat and you slide between his legs, jumping up behind him. He turns just in time to take a kick to the stomach, blasting him backwards to the end of the ring. He prevents a worse fall by forcing himself down on one knee.

You take the second he is down to catch your breath. You try to calculate your next move but your adrenaline is dwindling. Hopelessness settles in your chest. You cannot win this fight. At best, you can prolong it, but—

For the second time, you are blind-sided by pain. It shatters down the right side of your body, a winded shove that blows right through you. But it is not Chan. Chan is still getting to his feet.

You look up only for Changbin to bring his fist down in your face. It knocks you off your feet and you land with a heavy thud. Your heart races inside your aching chest.

You have never fought Changbin like this.

“What are you doing?” you hiss when he grabs you by the neck and drags you onto your feet. You come to your senses and fight back, but you are hurt and tired and he has been recuperating.

He punches you clear across the jaw and knocks you down again. The world tilts sideways, spotted with black and blue. Changbin drops on top of you. You cannot even wrestle him, so disoriented. He gets you flat on your front and pins you down.

Then he takes a second to whisper in your ear, “Stop fighting me, murder princess. Who do you want as a bodyguard? Me or that thing?”

If you were not so tired, you might have laughed.

Your life is so backwards. Changbin is helping you by beating the shit out of you. But it is undoubtedly helpful. He is right. If Chan beat you, then Chan would be your bodyguard. Your father would win. He would have one of his agents glued to your side. An agent you would never be able to shake no matter what you did.

But it is not Chan over you. It is your friend. Someone from the same shadows as you. Someone your father was not anticipating.

Changbin grabs you by the neck and yanks you up. You look at your father with blood dribbling out of your mouth.

“I win,” Changbin says.

Your father does not look happy. That should upset you. You and Miroh are bound as one.

But it gives you a thrill. His abomination of a soldier looms to the side, still staring at you, like he expects the fight to continue any second. You suppose Chan’s life is one big fight and always has been.

It doesn’t have to be that way for you, you think to yourself, a dangerous thought, one conjured by the feeling of your only friend holding you in his arms. It looks like a death grip to anyone else, purely technical, but you feel it, the way he cups your injuries carefully despite his bulk and power.

Miroh is scared. He is getting desperate. He wants you brought to heel. In doing so, he is only stoking your resentment.

That pot starts to boil over.

“Well?” you say, in a voice as rough as gravel.

“Yes,” your father says with a petty little snarl. “I suppose you have won, haven’t you?”

Changbin helps you off the ground. You suffer through your pains. You can feign steadiness for another minute, for long enough to retaliate.

You climb out of the ring. You pass the other injured guards. You walk right up to your father.

Miroh stares at you. You have identical glares, measuring each other. Two soldiers with the same fire in their blood.

You punch him. It is a nice sharp shot across the face, using all the strength you have left. You are one of the best. Despite your injuries, it is still one fucking hell of a punch.

Miroh falls back in an undignified sprawl, hitting the hard ground with a painful thud. He is good but he is not you. A fall like that would not have broken your bones the way it clearly fractures his arm.

“Until next time, father,” you say.

You step over him. His security team immediately surrounds him, helping him up. Your team comes to your aid as well. Changbin follows too, coming right up to your side. He grabs your arm and slings it around his shoulder, taking the brunt of your weight seconds before you would have collapsed.

You look back over your shoulder. The injured guards are tending their wounds. Chan is looming in the background like a living shadow. Miroh is clutching his arm and staring at you with fury pouring out of him. You walk away, smiling despite your injuries.

Your father should know better than to hit you.

You always hit back.

#bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan x you #chan x you #bang chan fanfiction #bang chan smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfiction #skz x you #stray kids x you

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wordstome · 7 months

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Last night I did what I always do when I can’t fall asleep: think about fictional men. Here’s a list of wonderful stories written by incredibly talented people who have helped me think about fictional men by providing the most delicious playgrounds.

In the interest of keeping my recommendations brief, I'm going to talk about what I liked about the fic instead of summarizing what it's about. To know what it's actually about you're just gonna have to click through and read the fic <3

(and just in case anybody's gotten lost, this is all COD, mostly modern MW)

✦ complete ║ ➠ ongoing

König

✦Just Friends by @kneelingshadowsalome Salome is so good at capturing a very unique interplay between König’s social awkwardness and his deep, dark, nasty inclinations. He’s so feral and enjoyable to read, and the sheer force of his desire for Engel is downright intoxicating. I find it difficult to describe how much of an impact Just Friends has had on me and my portrayal of König, to be honest. There's a reason why three of Salome's fics are on this rec list.

✦Fatum Nos Iungebit by kneelingshadowsalome Five words. König with his cock out. That's it. Okay, but in all seriousness, I love his character applied to this setting. All the raw visceral violence a König could ever want, a pretty little lady in his bed—he's so boyish and happy in this au it brings me such joy. The way their relationship between him and Fee develops is so natural and so sweet. Please for the love of God read this.

➠Cat/Mouse/Den by @papaver-decervicatus The chase. The pursuit. The adrenaline when Mouse dances out of König's reach once more. I'm a little biased because I adore Julius and Jenny (I could call her Lucretia but the double J names make me giggle) as ocs already, but CMD is so, so well written. The tension, the flirting, the scene where he catches her falling out of the tree?! As I said in a reblog, I shrieked. You know when you're reading something that's so good you want to bite down on it and shake like a dog with a toy? (No? Just me?) That's how I feel about CMD.

➠Anything by @darklordofthesimp Anything, in only 7 chapters (they are hefty, don’t get me wrong), has turned König and Birdy’s dynamic from “THIS MOTHERFUCKER HAS IRREVERSIBLY SCARRED MY BODY AND MY BRAIN, AND I CANNOT TRUST HIM” to “these two are going to get married someday”. (author if you’re reading this, I say that not as an expectation or prediction, but as a vibe reading.) This one is for the hurt/comfort girlies. Also, shoutout to all the other stories set in the Anything-verse. Sunshine and Ghost are just soooo *grips my hand in a fist so hard it shakes*

➠If you need to be mean by @gremlingottoosilly This mostly serves as a blanket recommendation for all of Gremlin’s fics. I found If you need to be mean, and then visiting Gremlin’s author page was like opening a treasure chest. Want to be König’s pampered, (unwilling) little housewife? That’s If you need to be mean. Want a harem fic with almost all of the COD MW men? Gremlin has two, both with their own little spin to keep it fun. Do you want König to keep you in his basement or hunt you down as a serial killer? Gremlin's got it. Monsterfucker? Gremlin has that too. Special shoutout goes to 1295 kilometers. I think about fucking König on a train a lot now.

➠Break my mind by @kaiasdevotion (kaiasown on ao3) There’s no way around this. This fic has the most unhinged, kinky, downright dangerous smut I’ve read in the cod fandom so far (positive). Just Friends König is the metric by which I judge all other Königs’ nastiness, and Break my mind König is tipping so hard on the “unhinged horny violent freak (affectionate)” end of the scale he’s about to fall off. I don't know if you guys have noticed, but I've developed a taste for writing/reading from König's perspective, and he's so chillingly deranged in the most controlled way possible during the chapters from his pov. Incredible writing. Chefs kiss.

✦Experimental by @uhohdad (surgeoninspace on ao3) Alright, enough of just König being nasty. He is still nasty in this one, but he’s not the only one who gets to have a little fun and be a total creep. Our little scientist here is a grade A pervert, and I was delighted the whole way through. The most important thing I need in a fic is suspension of disbelief, and Experimental takes an unrealistic, maybe a little bit silly situation and makes it so believable. Everybody reacts the way you would expect them to, even if the scenario they're in is A Lot.

➠Little Mouse and Rotes Madchen by @sprout-fics I'm combining the recommendation for these two because while they are both very much distinct, unique fics, I love them the same way. Sprout is such an engaging writer, and the internal dialogue of her characters is so well done. It reveals their personality, motivations, and internal conflicts without being overly expository. Do you guys remember that post I put on the König bible about instant obsession? It's this inexorable attraction borne from obsession that sticks me to Little Mouse like a glue trap. (Is that too morbid?)

✦Hot in Sarajevo by @50cal-fullauto Rags' König characterization post is on my Königcore bible, for very good reason. They get it. König is a feral dog forced to live as a man and loves like a total maniac, emotionally and sexually. I marked Hot in Sarajevo as complete but I don't know how many parts there are going to be, and frankly, I do want more. However, if you're going to only read one part (which. why would you do that??? read both.) I recommend the second part. I want to write love like that. Goddamn.

Ghost

Yeah, this list is a little bare bones right now. I'm gonna get back to it, I promise.

✦Anhedonia by kneelingshadowsalome The way. Salome takes the "I would take a bullet for him but he's so cold to me" premise and then flips it entirely on its head for the second part is so important to me. The way Simon craves the reader is like human catnip. I reread this fic all the time.

Keegan

✦For the Weak and Weary by @halcyone-of-the-sea Read this if you want to believe in true love. That's all. Go on now.

Multiple

✦Easy by @danibee33 When people say "I wish this were a book!" about fanfiction, they usually mean it in a "this is good enough to be published by the traditional publishing industry" way. When I say I want Easy (and Diablesa) to be a book, I mean it in a "I want to get this story bound in a beautiful ass cover and keep it on a shelf so I can take it down and reread it whenever I want" way. I don't want the traditional publishing industry to get their claws in this, because it's perfect as it is. This fic is so wild and fun, and the character moments are so special and well done. Do yourself a favor and savor this one.

➠@ghouljams's entire blog [masterlist] "What do you mean someone's entire blog" YOU HEARD ME. Those aus are some good shit. Good characterization, delicious premises, love the group effort of it all. To absolutely nobody's surprise, my favorite couple is König and Bee from the cowboy au (ditzy but well-meaning and competent in her own way woman x big strong man who is obsessed with her and maybe also creeping on her, my beloved), but I also have a fondness for Ghost and Die from demon darlings au. Trust me on this one. Dig into those masterlists babey.

#ficrec #cod #mw2 #cod mw2 #cod ghosts #König #König cod #konig cod #König x reader #konig x reader #simon ghost riley #keegan p russ #keegan russ #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #keegan x reader #keegan russ x reader #navigation: fic recs

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dragoneyes618 · 4 months

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"Last week, the presidents of Harvard, MIT, and the University of Pennsylvania were called to testify before Congress about the alarming rise of anti-Semitism on their campuses, and their tepid responses to it, in the wake of October 7.

By now, you have probably heard about the trio’s horrendous overall performance, punctuated by their smug inability to respond to the simple question of whether calling for the genocide of Jews violates their schools’ codes of conduct. Since that time, the president of UPenn has stepped down, and support for the other two is wavering.

In case you are wondering, their answer should have been an unequivocal “yes, it violates our polices.” The right to free speech is fundamental, but it does have limits: The First Amendment is not a pass to threaten, harass, intimidate or otherwise violate the rights of others.

For the record, even those pundits who (incorrectly) defended the university presidents’ testimony as being legally correct, if morally tone deaf, had to admit that it did represent a glaring double standard. Each of these universities has in recent years protected other minority groups from even “micro-aggressions” by effectively and ruthlessly shutting down speech that their leaders find offensive.

Struggling to answer whether calls for genocide against Jews constitutes bullying, after you have already officially labeled “fatphobia” as “violence” and “using the wrong pronoun” as a form of “abuse,” is pathetic, and to see these schools pretending that they are genuinely concerned about free speech all of a sudden is nothing short of laughable. In the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression’s 2024 College Free Speech Rankings, for example, out of 248 US campuses, Penn and Harvard were ranked 247th and 248th, respectively. If you are only concerned about shutting down speech when that speech targets Jews, well, there is a word for that.

How Free Is Free Speech?

The First Amendment does not protect trespassing, vandalism, harassment, assault, or the destruction of property. Nor does it protect speech that is not meant to inform or persuade, but to disrupt lawful endeavors —activities like going to the kosher dining hall or studying in a library. The First Amendment does not protect someone who is making true threats, nor does it protect intimidation — “a type of true threat, where a speaker directs a threat to a person or group of persons with the intent of placing the victim in fear of bodily harm or death.”

Just a few months ago, in Counterman v. Colorado (2023), the United States Supreme Court clarified that this does not necessarily mean that the person speaking actually intended to threaten the victim. Rather, the Court imposed a recklessness standard — i.e., the First Amendment does not protect a person who consciously disregards a substantial risk that his communications would be viewed as threatening violence. To be clear, calling for the genocide of Jews, as the pro-Hamas student groups on campus have consistently been doing, does create a hostile environment for Jewish people on campus, violates Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, and is not protected by the First Amendment.

It was obvious that all three university presidents were reading off scripts written by their respective attorneys (several of whom were sitting behind them and nodding throughout the hearing). The question then becomes: What now? What is the critical error that their lawyers (and the general counsels at other universities where Jewish students are being targeted) have made in failing to stand up for Jewish people, and how should they immediately correct it?

The answer is simple, and it is exactly what students, parents, donors, and the government alike should all be demanding from these institutions: They should continue to respect the First Amendment, but they should apply the appropriate standard for speech on a campus.

From a legal perspective, it is easy to see where the university legal counsels’ confusion specifically arose. Those horrible answers were written under the assumption that the only limits a university can put on student speech are the limits contemplated in the foundational Supreme Court First Amendment case of Brandenburg v. Ohio (1969).

In that case, regarding speech at a KKK rally, the Court held that a state could only punish speech that “is directed to inciting or producing imminent lawless action and is likely to incite or produce such action.” Brandenburg is famously a very high standard, and that is precisely where the universities are hiding: Despite the hundreds of anecdotal incidents from the last two months, and notwithstanding all of the well-known studies confirming that inflammatory discriminatory anti-Semitic rhetoric leads directly to anti-Semitic violence, officials are telling students and parents and now Congress that their hands are tied because, in most cases, there has not been direct enough incitement.

Campus Standards Are Different

Now, the truth is that even under the Brandenburg standard, schools can still impose reasonable time, place, and manner restrictions. As the Court in Grayned v. City of Rockford (1972) explained: “The crucial question is whether the manner of expression is basically incompatible with the normal activity of a particular place at a particular time.”

So even under that paradigm, any activities that disrupt the educational enterprise and functioning of a school may be restricted. Common sense dictates that rallies celebrating calls for anti-Semitic genocide disrupt the educational enterprise and functioning of a school because they leave some students genuinely fearful for their lives.

But that argument is also unnecessary, because Brandenburg is absolutely the wrong standard for schools to be using, and university presidents and lawyers need to correct that mistake as soon as possible.

In Tinker v. Des Moines (1969), the Supreme Court explained that the Constitution does allow for schools to shut down speech that will “materially and substantially interfere” with the “requirements of appropriate discipline” in the operation of the school” or that “invad[es] the rights of others.” That is the standard that these schools must now vigilantly enforce.

Of course, private colleges and universities, like Harvard, Penn, and MIT, can restrict certain speech, conduct, and demonstrations, in most cases, without triggering any constitutional issues. But even a public university is not a public street, and the rules for what speech must be allowed on each are very different.

The Supreme Court in Healy v. James (1972) cited Tinker to hold that university officials do not have to tolerate student activities that breach reasonable campus rules; interrupt the educational process; or interfere with other students’ rights to receive an education. (This is especially true when the student speech is happening in school-sponsored forums, or is reasonably perceived as somehow bearing the school’s imprimatur.)

The Court has also repeatedly held (in Bethel v. Fraser [1986] and Hazelwood v. Kuhlmeier [1988]) that schools have even greater latitude to limit student expression if they can establish a “legitimate pedagogical concern.” Ensuring that all students — including Jewish students — have a safe and harassment-free environment in which to learn should be an overwhelmingly legitimate pedagogical concern.

Under the Tinker line of cases, schools do not even have to wait for a breach to actually occur; administrators can act if they can “reasonably forecast” that the expression in question would disrupt school discipline or operation, or violate the rights of other students. In Melton v. Young, for example, the Court ruled that schools could prohibit the wearing of a Confederate flag jacket because it was reasonable to assume that it would be disruptive in an environment of heightened racial tension.

Waving a Hamas flag and cheering on slaughter, as bodies are still being identified and hostages are still being held, announcing solidarity with the “resistance” and that “armed struggle” — i.e., murder —“is “legitimate,” and yes, calling for the genocide of Jews, are all behaviors that are no less likely to cause a disruption than a jacket.

Tinkering with Free Speech

Under Tinker, it is more than reasonable to forecast that there will be substantial disruptions that would violate the right of Jewish students to a non-hostile educational environment if groups are allowed to host events that glorify and celebrate the murder of Jews.

Schools can and must act now to prevent that from continuing to happen, using both common sense and the relevant case law to draw the appropriate line. The limits on the First Amendment are there to help the government with its primary responsibility —to protect all of its citizens from harm —and authorities must be constantly vigilant to enforce the law correctly.

Regardless, the answer to “what now?” then, is this: Everyone calling for change should articulate what that change is, and institutions fixing their policies should clearly explain how they will “tinker” with their free speech formulas so that the next time their leaders are asked if calling for a Jewish genocide is problematic, the answer can just be “yes.”

-Goldfeder, M. (2023g, December 13). Poison Ivies - Mishpacha Magazine. Mishpacha Magazine - The premier Magazine for the Jewish World. https://mishpacha.com/poison-ivies/

#antisemtism #colleges #campus #antisemitism on campus #harvard #mit #university of pennsylvania #jumblr

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scorchieart · 7 months

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Understaffed

Genre: Comedy

Wordcount: 1326

Prompt: In A Flash CCC hosted by @flash-exchange - October 2023: Magic Apprenticeship

A/N: My first entry for the In A Flash CCC! This one was inspired by the folks over on Discord, you guys rock for helping me finish a fic after so long! I will try my best to write some more as the challenge continues. For this fic, it's been split up as 2 separate parts, the first part being mainly from Jin's perspective and the second continuing from Yves and Nokto's. Many thanks to @lorei-writes for the feedback and suggestions. Enjoy!

Jin Grandet was not a warlock. At least, not officially.

It wasn’t because he had a late start. Most children couldn’t even read spells from the rudimentary tomes at age six, let alone pronounce them. And it wasn’t as if he was without talent. It was common knowledge throughout the kingdoms that the sorcerer’s gene manifested strongest within royal bloodlines. No, the true reason Jin failed his Warlock Mastery Examination was far less magical than he’d like to admit.

But that’s a story for another time. And even if the minimum age to apply was fifteen, it didn’t mean he was barred from trying again another year. Heck, most applicants didn’t even make an attempt until they were double that! But of course, Chevalier came of age the next year, and while the exam was merely a formality for the prodigy, barely anyone bothered to register for that round. Fueled by fiery rivalry, Clavis was hot on Chevalier’s heels the year after that, and Jin was too preoccupied with helping him train to even consider enrolling himself. And just a few weeks prior, Leon passed his exam with flying colors. A feat Jin attributes to his apt sideline encouragement and diligent inspections of Leon’s daily meat intake.

So what if he didn’t pass? Jin could still perform magic as well as any warlock. He just didn’t have a staff to show for it. Instead, he could boast that the never-before-seen-three-year-streak of fifteen-year old graduates were his students.

“For the last time, we are not your students,” Yves declared.

“And why wouldn’t you want to be?” Jin asked. He waved a hand and the curtain of low-hanging branches before him parted, revealing a narrow dirt path ahead. “I have a one-hundred percent success rate. And you’re my next conquest, Yves.”

“Yeah, Evie. Why don’t you take him up on his offer?” Nokto said, following Licht as they climbed down after Jin. “Then you can tell us if he’s legit or not.”

“Oh, he’s the real deal,” Leon said. He took a steady stance beside a cherry oak and swung his newly acquired staff overhead, making all the barren trees in the vicinity shake and shoot their branches upward like spikes. Nokto watched in awe as Leon calmed the trees down and flashed him a toothy grin. “Can’t recommend the big guy enough.”

“No, no, no, my brothers. You mustn’t let the opinions of others sway your decision making!” Clavis said, pushing past Leon. “Ask yourselves this: do I want to be taught by a syrupy dropout, or by the youngest, most renowned warlock of our age?” He struck the ground with his own staff and the dirt rumbled. Moments later, roots and tubers erupted from the earth like the undead, making Yves screech and trip on an upright rose stem. Clavis laughed maniacally as the plants continued to grow, until Leon whacked him on the head and the vegetary scene immediately reverted underground as if it never happened.

“I’m younger than you, remember?” Leon countered.

“And I was younger than you both when I passed,” Chevalier added, his pace leisurely as he joined them.

“Yes, yes, you don’t have to remind us again how your test happened three days after your birthday,” Clavis said, rubbing his bruised forehead. “It is insufferably pedantic of you.

“Shall I remind everyone instead of how you only passed because the examiner happened to sneeze when you flubbed the fire retardancy enchantment on your trousers?”

“Like I said, little ones. Follow what Jin says, and you’ll do just fine,” Clavis said.

“If you’re done sharing my many virtues, hurry on over!” Jin called. The group exchanged speculative glances before filing through the unanimated greenery towards his excited voice.

Flummoxed by their seniors’ effortless display of magical prowess, Yves and Nokto insisted they take the lead, bewitching wayward wood knots and saplings from the path. Once or twice they glanced back, hopeful to receive praise for their successful spells, only to find the trio engrossed in their own conversation.

“Maybe he wants to take us all on at once? Six against one?” Leon suggested.

“Please,” Clavis yawned, stretching his arms above his head and waving his staff teasingly. “He could squash the kiddos, no problem. But he won’t get much farther than that unarmed.”

“He brought his sword. Or is your staff so far up your rear that you did not notice?” Chevalier said, swatting Clavis’s staff away from his face.

Yves and Nokto whirled their heads towards the track ahead, struggling to keep their attention back on moving the plants. Is that what this was all about? Despite Jin’s domineering stature, they had never once seen their brother in a fight. But Jin also was the most knowledgeable about the contents of the exam, even if he did fail his. Was this the type of error-correcting that guaranteed Chevalier, Clavis, and Leon’s successes?

The path eventually fed into a wide clearing as large as one of the training arenas at the palace. Even in peak autumn, thick shrubs still flanked all sides like a fence except for one; a cavernous cliff plummeted behind where Jin stood, his arms folded and mouth stretched in an expectant grin.

“Are we really gonna fight?” Nokto said nervously, reaching for his sword.

“Alright! Loser gets thrown off the cliff!” Clavis whooped. “Chevalier, fight me!”

“Slow down, we’re learning defensive tactics today,” Jin said. “Magic has limitless potential to attack, right? So it stands to reason that the same should be true in defense. Far too often does a warlock fall into the assumption that one trumps the other in combat.”

“Spoken nearly verbatim from Elemental Charms and Combat,” Chevalier said unamused.

“That means he knows his stuff,” said Leon. “But then why’d ya bring us here too, Jin?”

“No, Chevalier’s right. There’s only so much you can learn from theory alone. We need experience to connect the dots. And I sure as sugar wouldn’t hurt a hair on the little guys’ heads, so that’s where you lot come in.” Jin crouched beside Yves and Nokto and patted their shoulders. “Yves, you’ll spar with Chevalier. And Nokto, you get Clavis.”

Yves froze on the spot.

“Oh, goodie…” Nokto mumbled.

“Just remember the basics, and you’ll be fine,” Jin said, then he turned to the warlocks. “And don’t you go blasting infernos at them. We’re out here to prevent unnecessary bystander injuries. But remember, this is still a highly flammable area.” He glared at Clavis, who seemed to get a chill and wrapped his cloak firmly around himself.

“Wait. Where’s my partner?” Leon asked. A quick lookover of the clearing proved Licht was nowhere to be seen.

“Maybe Leon’s branches pulled him up to the sky?” Nokto suggested.

“Or Clavis’s roots dragged him down below!” Yves gasped.

“Both,” Chevalier said, pointing over the cliff. Halfway down, Licht hung suspended and looking below, his shirt caught on a thorny branch tangled with crisscrossing roots.

“Licht!” Yves and Nokto cried.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Clavis called down to him.

“Something tells me the branch will snap if he so much as breathes wrong,” Leon said. Licht answered with a shaky thumbs up.

“Everyone, change of plans!” Jin bellowed. “Today we’re doing rescue training. And not a word of this gets to Sariel, got it? Okay, let’s go!” He drew his sword and leaped over the edge, jamming it into the cliffside as he descended.

Shocked, and slightly relieved, Yves and Nokto followed Jin’s lead, the scraping sounds of their blades cutting rock disappearing with them.

“Moron,” Chevalier huffed. The air around him began to crackle as he inhaled deeply and swung his staff in a circular motion. “He didn’t even evaluate the situation for a full minute. And they still wonder why he didn’t pass—”

“You heard the boss!” Clavis and Leon yelled. Together they seized each of Chevalier’s arms and hurled themselves over the cliff, leaving their staves behind.

Listen, it is liberating to write Chevalier, Clavis, and Leon as comic relief side characters. Trust me.

Tagging: @queengiuliettafirstlady @violettduchess @venulus @thewitchofbooks @leonscape @rhodolitesrose @venti-tangents @dear-sciaphilia @ikesenwritings @myonlyjknight @ladyofcrowsx @otomefoxystar @my-day6

If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me an ask or a message.

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howlingday · 8 months

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Belladina Interviews

Oobleck: Right! Well then, why don't we start with a few questions for the parents?

Blake: (Thinking) Bartholomew Oobleck. Forty-seven years old. He has a doctorate in history as Beacon's history teacher and is housemaster of dormitory 7, Amber Hall. Regarded as intelligent, reliable, and open-minded. He's well-liked by his students, but is also known for speaking at a swift pace. The safest path to win his favor is with honest and straightforward answers.

Oobleck: I understand that this is your second wife. How did you meet your husband?

Blake: Straight to the point. It makes sense, since Beacon Academy is focused on family values.

Blake: My husband and I met by chance at the neighborhood tailor's shop. The same one where Beacon uniforms are made, in fact. It was the way he carried himself which first caught my eye. It was like he appeared out of nowhere. After the death of my first husband and being so busy caring for my daughter, I was hesitant to pursue a new relationship. But the more we talked, the more I realized I'd found a kindred spirit in him. I was touched by his kindness and how much he valued family. I knew he would be a wonderful father to my daughter.

Jaune: (Blushing)

Oobleck: I see. Same question, Mr. Belladina.

Jaune: Oh... Well... Blake is such a wonderful woman. And she's so good with children. She understood how difficult it was for me to be all by myself, and she welcomed me into her family.

Oobleck: Excellent to hear. Family is very important to us at Beacon.

Jacques: I see you're a man who must have low standards, Mr. Arc. Why else would you saddle yourself to a woman with a child? And a woman like her no less?

Goodwitch: Behave yourself, Master Schnee.

Blake: Jacques Schnee. Fourty-nine years old. A legacy hire, as his father-in-law was the headmaster, he is the business and economics professor and housemaster of dormitory two, Azure Hall. Greedy. Callous. His wife filed for divorce last month. His wife just won full custody of her children. In all of his previous interviews, his questions focused on directly disparaging the families of applicants. It's best to avoid provoking him.

Oobleck: On to the next question. May we ask why you have decided to apply for Beacon Academy?

Blake: For one reason, sir...

Blake: To get close enough to my target, Charlotte Malachite!.

Blake: The quality of the teaching staff at Beacon Academy is second to none. The instructors are cultured, knowledgeable, and talented. More importantly, I believe only the elite faculty of Beacon Academy can instill in our child the nobility and patriotism needed to stand amongst our country's elite.

Goodwitch: (Thinking) A most disciplined reply, Blake Belladina. I knew I saw something in you.

Glynda Goodwitch. ??? years old. Fitness Professor and housemistress of dormitory three, Lavender Hall. Personality: Elegant.

Oobleck: We would like to hear about Penny from the perspective of her parents. What would you consider to be her strengths and weaknesses?

Blake: Penny holds a deep and passionate curiosity. She is willing and eager to poke her nose into everything, sometimes to an extent that it could be considered as much of a strength as it is a weakness. And perhaps this is just a mother's bias, but I find her to be wise beyond her years.

Goodwitch: Wise? This girl here? Didn't she only earn thirty-one points on her entrance exam?

Penny: (Flinches)

Blake: In fact, she's so intuitive, I swear she can read my mind! Ha ha!

Penny: (Shivers)

Blake: But for a solid answer for weaknesses, I do wish she was less picky about her food.

Oobleck: Hm. And what do you see in her, Mr. Belladina, and how would you describe your parenting style towards her?

Jaune: Well, as we've already discussed, I am not her birth father. So I will admit that, at first, I may have spoiled her in my attempts to win her over. I had to learn how to be strict sometimes, for the sake of her future. I work hard to remember that.

Jaune: (Thinking) Just like we practiced.

Oobleck: Mrs. Belladina mentioned that your daughter can be picky. What sort of meals do you cook at home?

Jaune: M-Meals?! Oh, uh, I, uh... W-Well...

Blake: Actually, sir, I do most of the cooking. However, my husband is more than happy to help when I'm too busy.

Blake: Not that it's ever happened.

Jacques: You're kidding me. A husband who can't even cook? You need to work harder to be a better example for your daughter, sir!

Jaune: !!!

Blake: No one is perfect, sir. While my husband may not be the primary chef, he is incredibly neat and organized. The house is always spotless. And he is a most wonderful example for our daughter.

Jacques: That may be, but a man who can't even cook is hardly a good example for a child.

Blake: And who are you to-

Jaune: B-Blake, it's okay! He's right!

Blake: (Clenching her fist) He's right. Calm yourself, Nightshade. Why are you even upset? It's not like he's really your husband.

Jacques: (Thinking) Just a pair of lovebirds, eh? I could just puke. Well, I'll just keep pecking at those cracks and see what comes pouring out. If these smug plebians don't get rejected, then there is no justice in the world.

Penny: (Thinking) This man hates Mama and Papa! I need to do real good, or else...

Oobleck: Well, I think it's time we heard from your daughter.

Penny: Here we go...

Oobleck: Can you tell us who you are and where you live?

Penny: M-My name is Penny Pellapina. And I live in Vale... North. At 42 Space... Something. Mister sir!

Oobleck: And what do you like to do when you're not in school?

Blake: She knows this. These are all the questions we...

Penny: I like to watch at restaurants and eat the opera.

Blake: Huh?.

Oobleck: And what sorts of things do you want to accomplish while attending Beacon Academy?

Penny: Uh... Um...

Penny: What was the answer?.

Blake: Well, I know what I want to do while at Beacon Academy. Get close to Charlotte at a school event and expose the plans of the organization she leads. Then stop her before-

Penny: I want... to expose the secrets... of the boss... of the or-gun-eye-zay-shun.

Blake: WHAT DID SHE JUST SAY?!. The answer was to read all the books in the library!.

Penny: Oh, and library books.

Oobleck: "Boss of the organization"? Do you mean the headmaster?

Blake: Ah ha ha ha! Oh, excuse my daughter! She's very ambitious! She's so curious about the lives of the people who have achieved leadership positions.

Goodwitch: Hmmm... Seeking to learn from those at the top at such a young age... There is a degree of elegance to that.

Goodwitch: If that is true, then you mist know the name of our headmaster, young lady?

Penny: Um... It's, uh...

Blake: You know this! It's Headmaster Ozpin!.

Penny: Head pasture... All in. Mister sir.

Goodwitch: Eh... Close enough.

Goodwitch: And do you understand how hard one must work to succed as he has?

Penny: ...

Penny: Yeah! You gotta run through the jungle to get strong! And face life-or-death stuff over and over to get brave!

Blake: That was the training montage in yesterday's spy cartoon...

Goodwitch: Such incredible resolve! Perhaps I have underestimated this child.

Oobleck: Haha! Perhaps you needn't go that far. Now, I have questions for you about your parents. What does your mother do for a living?

Penny: She's a spy.

Blake: !

Penny: Spy... Spycial social work.

Oobleck: Are you alright, dear? You sound a bit congested. What about your father? What is he like?

Penny: He can be a little scary sometimes, but he's really nice!

Jaune: !

Oobleck: If you had to give your mother and father a score, what would it be?

Penny: 100 points! They're perfect and I love them. I want to be with them forever!

Jacques: Garbage like this is the last thing we need at Beacon.

Jacques: So, who do you like better? Your old daddy or your new daddy?

Oobleck: Master Schnee, that question isn't-

Jacques: Who cares? Are we who ask the questions not permitted to improvise and think outside the box?

Blake: May I request a different question?

Blake: I don't know how she ended up in that orphanage, but there's too good a chance her parents are...

Jacques: No. Answer the question or be scored accordingly.

Plip... Plip...

Penny: (Crying) D... D...

Blake: Penny...

Penny: (Sniffles, Wipes eyes) Daddy...

Jacques: Well, there you have it. She likes her real daddy more.

Jaune: (Comforting Penny) How dare you?!

Blake: Calm down, Jaune.

Jaune: But this is...

Blake: For the mission, we can endure this. We have to endure this.

Jacques: The dorms are full of children living away from their parents. This is no place for children who burst into tears over every little thing.

Blake: He can smear us all he likes. It doesn't matter. We're not a real family.

Jaune: "Every... little.. thing"? You think THAT is a "little thing"? (Fingers pop and crack)

Blake: Calm. Calm. Calm. It doesn't matter.

Jacques: What's your problem anyway, second husband? It's not my fault she doesn't love you.

Jacques: Ah, now that feels better. Hm?

Blake: (Swinging her leg for Jacques head) STAND DOWN, NIGHTSHADE!.

CRUNCH!

Jacques: (Stares at table split in perfect half)

Blake: (Removes her foot from the table, Reveals bug beneath) Forgive my behavior. There was a gnat buzzing around. (Turns) Thank you for your time.

Jacques: W-Where do you think you're going?! We're not finished!

Blake: If belittling the feelings of children is part of Beacon's educational philosophy, then I have clearly chosen the wrong school.

Jacques: HOW DARE YOU DISGRACE THE NAME OF BEACON ACADEMY!

Blake: Jaune. Penny. We're leaving now. (They walk ahead) Good day. (Slams door)

Jacques: YOU WILL NEVER SET FOOT IN BEACON ACADEMY AGAIN! DO YOU HEAR ME?!

Goodwitch: You went too far, Master Schnee.

Jacques: Oh? Are you questioning my methods, Goodwitch? I'd watch your attitude, if I were you. Big Nicholas may no longer be with us, but his name still holds a lot of weight around here. Send in the next family already!

Goodwitch: ...

???: (Memory) Those who beg and grovel at the feet of the powerful... They're such pitiful creatures, no?.

Goodwitch: ...She didn't disgrace the good name of Beacon Academy.

Jacques: Huh?

BAM!

Jacques: (Falls back, Unconscious)

Goodwitch: (Changes gloves) There. Handled with elegance. And with that, Mrs. Belladina, I think I can face you with the pride and dignity of a proper Beacon Academy educator.

#rwby #spy x family #knightshade #rwby au #blake belladonna #jaune arc #penny polendina #bartholomew oobleck #jacques schnee #glynda goodwitch

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welcome-to-green-hills · 5 months

Note

So what do you think happened in between the time that Shadow was ejected from the ark and to earth after the ark raid fifty years ago? I really hope that is explored a bit more in the third film. On top of that, I think that you should treat yourself and go all sciencey with this post well. Mainly because I want to know your thoughts on the matter and I love reading your science posts and whatnot

Hello, my dear!❤️✨

I completely agree. I do hope that this is explored a bit more in the film. It wasn't entirely clear as to what happened within that time-frame in the games. I'm sure that many of us have an idea as to what happened with Shadow as he crashed to Earth from the ARK in Sonic Adventure 2. From my perspective, it seemed like Shadow had a bit of time on Earth before GUN Soldiers came to retrieve him from the escape pod.

Onto to your last bit, are you asking me what would happen to Shadow as he crashed to Earth? Like... in a real world perspective? Something realistic? Uh, I can try and go all science-y like you've asked. Please keep in mind that my background in science is anthropological rather than astronomy and such.

The first thing that I should address is that most of my comparisons are in a modern-day setting. Yes, we can see that everything in the Sonic universe is technologically advanced, but we can't begin to fathom HOW advance they really are. We're only going on the notion that they're incredibly advanced. My logic and retelling of the situation is hypothetical. It should not be taken as a hard fact.

Let’s establish Shadow’s setting before diving into the intensity of the situation. Applying logic of modern day technology to the situation, we know that a shuttle from the earth to the moon is roughly three days (Dobrijevic, 2023). This is made with the assumption of using 21st century aerospace engineering/dynamics. We, as the audience, see that science and technology in Sonic's universe is highly advanced. The problem with this is that we don't necessarily have a strong understanding of how advanced it truly is. We can assume that it's drastically different from ours, but can't place a marker in time how how many years into the future it truly is. The best that we can say is that it's highly advanced. For the sake of my sanity and yours, we'll say that the escape pod's projection from the ARK to earth is in three days or less. (This is based upon the assumption that the escape pod cannot be piloted on Shadow's end).

What we need to realize is that Shadow is in a state of shock. Everything that happened on the ARK is still fresh in mind. That moment replays over and over again. When someone is in a state of shock, your entire body in sensory overload. Blood flow drops and resorts in a plethora of symptoms. Symptoms like irregular and labored breathing, cold and clammy skin, enlarged pupils, changes in mental behavior, and so forth (Mayo Clinic, 2023). These symptoms can vary depending on the intensity of the situation. And if anything, the ability to think rationally dwindles. The popular thought that the fandom has was why Shadow couldn’t teleport back to the ARK when ejected into space. While this may have seen like a logical idea, even if he bypasses his mental state of shock, there is a problem with canon rule. Before the rule change, Shadow could only use chaos control to teleport unless he possessed an emerald (Takashi lizuka, 2013). Chaos Control is different than a Chaos Snap, meaning that distance is a factor. This was the canon rule for when SA2 was released in 2001. Even if he were to rationally think and formulate a plan, he wouldn't get very far. He’s completely trapped in the escape pod.

Other than going through a state of shock, he learns how to quickly adapt to the void of space. These are physical changes. A few queries that are stressed from astronauts is how they must relearn to adjustment to earth's gravity, natural lighting, and sound after space travel. These assumptions could be implied with Shadow as well.

In space, Shadow learns to adjust to the light intake that's around him. There isn’t a lot of light, but there's enough for him to see stars, planets, and the ARK. Since the ARK functions as a space station, we can conclude that he exposed to select adaptations of light cycles is present (Guo et. al, 2014). This means that he's adapted a circadian (biological) clock and sleep cycles. His natural habitat is space; his circadian clock matches space time. Entering into a new habitat with a different volume of light intake may mess with him completely. Other than affecting his sleep cycle, it will affect how he's able to see in a brighter setting. This could potentially result in temporary blindness. So even landing on earth, he wouldn't be able to get very far due to lack of vision problems.

Another factor to mention is his adaptation to earth's gravity. We must assume that the ARK has his own gravitation field and one similar to earth. I stress the word "similar" because it's not a complete replica. It's artificial. We cannot make the assumption that the escape pod possesses a gravitational field like the ARK—we lack that detail in SA2. Therefore, we must conclude that Shadow is subjected to weightlessness. We've learned from physiological study that extended periods of time in space will result a change in how the body adapts to earth's atmosphere (Cranford & Turner, 2021). Since Shadow is isolated in an enclosed environment for a specific amount of time, his perception of spacial orientation, head-eye/hand-eye coordination, general locomotion, and balance might be minimal. There would still be difficulties of adjusting to earth, but he wouldn't spend countless years of his lift trying to adapt.

Finally, there's the adjustment to sound. The unit of sound is measured in a decibel. The decibel value can increase and decrease depending on the environment. Typically, we hear a sound frequency at a decibel of 70 in every day activity (Editor, 2018). This is the equivalent of hearing car horns or a crowd of people talking in a store. Compared to everyday life on the ARK, Shadow is thrown into the void of space. The lack of sound—other than his own breathing (which can be measured at a decibel of 10 in sound frequency)—will be what he’s used to hearing. Once welcomed to earth, the frequency of sound that he’s used to is quickly forgotten. The natural and human sounds that come from earth may be too loud for him to comprehend at first. This could result in ringing of the ears and muffled noises. Since he was not trapped in space for a prolonged period of time in the escape pod, he will adjust eventually.

If Shadow was able to land on earth safely before GUN Soldiers came to retrieve him, then realistically he'd spend some time recovering from his escape. He wouldn't be moving around a lot. Then again, I'm not entirely sure of his recovery rate in order to say this with confidence. It would only be a matter of time before he was found and imprisoned with his creator by the United Federation. As I've said before, this is all hypothetical.

Jesus Christ this turned really dark... I hope this answers your question.

#sonic movie #sonic movie 3 #movie!shadow #shadow the hedgehog #mystery anon #off topic #Well this depressed the hell outta me. Anyone else need a hug?

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naamah-beherit · 1 year

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On fanzines and the mess their current state is

Or: musings from a writer's biased perspective.

This post has been a long time coming, but always something else caught my attention and months passed as such. Finally, the time has come.

There was a zine wank recently. The mods proved to be quite ignorant how art works, kicked the artist, the artist went public with receipts, the mods insisted it wasn't like that, and the whole affair kept derailing with possibly another explanation for the kicking until at last the mods cancelled the zine. And it's just the latest wank of many. A zine here took money and never delivered the product, another zine there has a mod who hasn't read the book but only heard about it from their friends who, coincidentally, are the other mods. And so on, and so forth. Everywhere you look, there's a fanzine. Multiple fanzines in fact, sometimes at the same time. Which is understandable, given how old a concept of a zine is and how solid their foundations in fandoms.

Or, well, technically, because when I think about the zines of today, I can't help but realise they're gradually losing the connection to their roots.

(yes, this might be another post of the "old person yells at clouds" type. I'm fully aware of that)

I won't summarise a history of zines, because that's not the point here and also Fanlore has done a much better job in this article. It does serve as a good starting point, though, if you've never ventured past "zines are a thing that exist". The most important thing to keep in mind is: the zines used to be about much more than just art. And here lies some of my beef with them.

Nowadays, most if not all zines are art books. Worse than that: art books that refuse to acknowledge the fact, own it, and market themselves accordingly. I actually own an art book that was announced and sold as such (Ages of Arda Anthology), which to this day in all my fandoms¹ remains the only publication of that kind. And if the zines of today would have acknowledged their main focus is mostly if not only art, I wouldn't be writing this.

Alas, here we are. I participated in four zines. Additionally, I was one of the editors in one of those. It was the first English Hualian zine, actually, back in 2019 - unless another one somehow slipped my mind, but I don't think so. My 2019 was bad, but TGCF is the only thing I remember well from that time. I've also been traditionally published (three times so far), which is also relevant to the rant. I admit I don't remember how many check-ins we had for that one zine I was in the staff of. We had a word/size limit for the entries. As fas as I recall, that was the entry criteria. I might be missing details, though; I was hella depressed at the time. Like I said, bad year, few memories and 99% of them is TGCF.

But anyway, the other three zines I wrote for. I applied, was accepted, went through the process, saw it to the end. You know, the "usual" zine process. The one I've got Opinions™ about.

Let's start with submissions. x samples of works of y quality. Okay, sure, we all think without stopping to realise it's a tad weird to submit a selected portfolio of works for a hobby event as if it were a job application. It gets weirder the longer you think about it, because, as I once wrote, fandom is for fun. It's a hobby. Maybe I'm old and jaded, or an idealist, or an old jaded idealist, but I believe everyone has a place in something as deeply tied to the fandom as a fanzine.

Then comes what I've got a personal vendetta against: check-ins and deadlines. Sure, I know people create projects with specific time frames in mind, but dear gods, again, it's not a job. Nothing bad will happen if dates shift around a bit when there's no money involved. Maybe it's just me being bitter about putting fun, fannish activity into strict professional frames. again, I'm old and jaded. And dear gods, check-ins. Here's when my trad pub history comes into play, because in neither case I had to let the editorial staff know I was actually working. True, it might be a case for a story that isn't done yet, doubly so if there's a deadline looming over both an author and their editor, but when you submit something finished and aren't asked to revise&resubmit, you go over the editorial input, make the changes (or not if you're feeling brave, lol), send it back, go over the proof copy, submit possible adjustments, and that's it. Or at least that's how it worked for me for two magazines and a short story anthology.

What does it matter if someone writes a story the day before the zine submissions are due? If it works for them, then it shouldn't be an issue. Again, it might be just me, but standardising and project-managising a hobby activity doesn't really sit well with me. From my very biased perspective, I don't see fun in chasing deadlines and writing on the clock, but that's just me.

Zine being a project rather than fun activity also ties to it becoming a product. That means a zine has to sell to at least cover the production cost, and with the quality the organisers and the audience expect, the labour cost is basically non-existent. That at least remained from a fun hobby activity - people working for free, lol. It also enables situations when the same few highly popular artists partake in most or all zines in a fandom (often upon invitations, whose very existence makes my blood boil), leading to a reality where zines become an endless cycle of repetition. And don't even get me started on invitations that add to the marketing strategy of selling the zines. "Here are our wonderful, carefully selected artists, and here's everyone else". That's how I see it. Where has "we're all fans of the same thing" gone? Where's "share our mutual love for the same thing"? Instead, we get invited people and those who have to submit a CV-like application for a senior position.

You ruined a perfectly good fan activity, is what you did. Look at it, it's got capitalism.

And last but not least, art books that refuse to acknowledge what they are and the subsequent treatment of writers.

The longer I look at zines, the lower the artists:writers ratio is becoming. Sure, people like to look at art, because it's quite often easier and always quicker than reading. Sure, ain't nobody got time for reading these days. BUT. The growing disparity between respect and reception of works of artists vs writers is, well, growing, and by not giving writers an equal treatment and exposure in something as important to fandoms as fanzines doesn't help to improve the situation. Again, my opinion, but when seeing zine promos that have got approximately 20-30+ artists and 5-10 writers at most is not cool. This is why I say most of the zines these days are art books that refuse the name. And there's nothing wrong with that name, or with including only artists in something that's only about visual art. But when it's mixed for art and writing, then the least zine organisers could do is make the numbers equal. Again, we're all fans of the same thing, and no fan activity is better than the other when its outlet is meant to be varied. Also, where are cosplayers? Where are meta writers? Both of those have got a place in a fanzine as well and should be given a treatment equal to other expression of fannish love.

Am I trying to turn back a river with a stick? Probably. But I'm fed up with zines that fail because someone embezzles funds, zines that prioritise the same group of people over and over again over a more diverse crowd, or claim they're welcoming to all forms of expressions but obviously prefer to include only fanart. I'm fed up with manufacturing zine after zine after zine just because they sell. I'm fed up with fandom becoming more and more of a structured professional endeavour instead of a hobby. I'm fed up with audience that constantly demands a faster and faster stream of, well, content. Neither of those is what fandom and fanzines should be like.

PS. not proofread. Sorry, I'm too dead to do that, so mistakes may get fixed within the next few days, 'cause they sure as hell are many.

¹ - I don't know anything about other fandoms, though. Like I said: it's all opinions from a very personal angle.

#fandom

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floatingcatacombs · 4 months

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What Else Did You Expect But More Yuri About Adults

12 Days of Aniblogging 2023, Day 12

It is my sworn duty to document the yuri genre as it continues to graduate from high school. Here's the pickings from this year.

She Loves To Cook, She Loves to Eat

Two women who live by themselves in the same apartment complex slowly bond over making and eating food together. There’s a fundamental feminism at this manga's core which says yes, we will be talking about periods and eating disorders and shitty families and institutional sexism instead of being trapped in our own coffins forever. That alone makes She Loves to Cook, She Loves to Eat a landmark work, but it’s also extremely relaxing and sweet. By some metrics it’s one of the most popular manga for women in Japan, and it warms my heart to know that it’s reaching the people who need to hear what it has to say.

Also, it received a live-action adaptation that aired on NHK during prime time. It's definitely worth watching! While the manga will use a good third of its panels to depict Kasuga devouring a meal from bite to bite, the show instead places the camera on Nomoto watching Kasuga eat. It’s an interesting inversion, keeping us more locked into Nomoto's perspective, and makes sense for the medium. There is no clear cultural box for what these two women are doing, something which they’re each keenly aware of. And yet, they continue to take care of one another, cutting through the fear and loneliness dinner by dinner. Watching through this with my girlfriend healed my relationship to food just a little, and I can’t wait for the second season to adapt some of the really juicy parts of the manga.

Cheerful Amnesia

A woman gets in a terrible accident and loses the last three years of her memories, much to the chagrin of her girlfriend during that time. This is a sex comedy with exactly one joke, and the bluntness with which it is applied won me over. I probably would’ve hated Arisa if I had tried reading this a year or two ago, but now that I'm familiar with High Femme Camp Antics I can understand what's going on with her. It’s so stupid, and arguably not very good, and yet I had fun. Though it is genuinely great that the latter volumes shift the subject matter to the perils of coming out to your family and the heartbreak of planning a wedding in a country that won’t recognize your marriage, but keep the tone exactly as lighthearted.

Umineko-Sou days

I mostly picked this up because it appeared while I was searching for the Umineko manga on my reader app. It was fine.

Naoko Kodama’s true calling, though, is writing cheating manga. Her newest is “A Lying Bride's Case for Same-Sex Marriage”, a manifesto of a title if I've ever heard one. There's only one chapter so far, but the heteropessimism on display is so scorched-earth that it’s hard to fault the lesbian protagonist for any homewrecking that may occur down the line.

Kodama is on a fucking mission with this one

A Face You Shouldn’t Show

Thank god you can just publish fetish porn in Comic Yuri Hime now. I approve of this on an ideological level, if not always a personal interest one.

All of the manga on display here are chipping away at the purity complex endemic to yuri in their own ways, and that’s the real miracle. Here’s to newer, weirder lesbians, now and always. Merry Christmas.

#12 days of anime #yuri

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mr-deblob · 28 days

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Aerti Reading of No Promises to Keep

So, new FF7 theme song, new group of lyrics to analyze, debate about Who It's About. While I'm fairly certain it's about all the people who Aerith came to know and who care for her, I can't help but feel that they lyrics point towards Tifa most of all. Perhaps it's simply shipping vision, but Hollow, while generally being about Cloud's state of mind trying to handle loss, definitely feels like it centers around Cloud's relationship with Zack specifically.

I'm not gonna write an essay about those two, but I will link to a video that pretty much embodies every reason why it embodies Zakkura:

youtube

But now, let's break down No Promises to Keep with that in mind. Hopefully I don't kick any hornets' nests in the process.

Walking city streets with worn cobblestones Listening to people rushing past to rhythms all their own Life passing me by, not thinking how the years have flown Until I met you

This portion can apply to Zack, Cloud, and Tifa pretty equally. All three of them played a part in Aerith engaging more in her own life. Zack kickstarted her flower-selling business; Cloud's fall led to her leaving Sector 5 with him and deciding to help rescue Tifa; and Tifa herself became her closest confidant and friend, both of them acting like each other's childhood girl friend that neither of them had a chance to experience.

I won't say that it was fate I won't say that it was destiny But if not, what could it be that drew you towards me? Could it be chance?

Let's be real- the fact that Aerith met Tifa at all is an absolutely wild chain of events from an outside perspective. Because Zack got her to start selling flowers topside, she ran into Cloud and happened to meet him once again when his fall from above landed in a church she frequents to gather flowers from. Then, when she accompanied him out of Sector 5, Chocobo Sam's cart carrying Tifa passed by and fired Aerith up to help rescue her.

Given that the Whispers only show up when the destiny of the Planet needs to be corrected, there's definitely an implication that all of these events were fated to occur. However, given that the Remake Trilogy's themes are heavy on changing destiny and if fates are fixed, these lines could be reflective of how Aerith is trying to fight the future she saw. Thus, she doesn't want to attribute the reason she met these people important to her to something greater. Better for it all to be pure chance that she knows them, that they sought each other out instead of being herded towards one another.

Till the day that we meet again Where or when? I wish I could say But believe—know that you'll find me Promises to keep, we won't ever need

While this is very much a general sentiment of Aerith wanting to be with her friends again after her death, the last line's rather striking to me. She doesn't need a promise for them to meet again- they will, even though she has no guarantee for how it'll happen. It's meant to reassure the ones she's singing to, and when it comes to someone who relied on a promise to keep herself connected to an important person in her life, Tifa Lockhart is the first one to come to mind.

Tifa has a lot of abandonment issues, rightfully so given... *gestures at her entire history*. At this point in her life, her childhood friend group had started seeing her as a romantic prospect and severely strained her ability to be open with them. Cloud, distant as he was, felt like the only one she could connect with who wasn't openly trying to court her, the closest one to treating Tifa like Tifa instead of a Young Maiden. If he leaves, she would lose the one person her age who talks to her like a person, and there's no guarantee that they would ever see each other again once he's gone. Trace of Two Pasts says that Tifa had a "special 'like'" for him, one that she couldn't afford to lose. So she comes up with the promise, a way to cope with the loneliness, something to believe in, like how she tried crossing Mt. Nibel to find her deceased mother on the other side.

She's the type of person who would need this kind of reassurance, especially with someone she's developed a close relationship with. Rebirth is not shy in showing that Aerith and Tifa are basically inseparable. And given the *ahem* separation which occurs at the end of Rebirth, Aerith would want to try and soften the pain and despair that would come for Tifa through the grief. If she could tell Tifa when or where they'll reunite, she would, but all she can do for now is help Tifa believe that they will meet again, that this parting is temporary and she won't need to mourn forever.

If only I'd never known All the burdens I was born to bear Lived a life without a care in the world save for you… But that won't do

Remake Aerith's gotten some glimpses of what will happen in the future/has happened in the past, something that's clearly weighed on her throughout the games. She's scared of the Whispers stealing away those parts of her, warns Cloud not to fall in love with her, and tries to keep Marlene and Red XIII as out of her memories/visions as best she can. But she knows she's meant to die for the sake of the Planet

Even beyond the meta elements of it, Aerith's status as a Cetra- the last Cetra- and her connection to the Lifestream has prevented her from really feeling as just another girl. She's the centerpiece of Shinra's plan to find the Promised Land, she's watched over by the Turks, she's been trapped since her birth and has never been able to make any real choices.

Wouldn't it be nice to be ignorant of all that? To have even a year where she didn't feel the weight of the world on her shoulders and could live as a carefree girl who loves flowers? But even if she could sweep away all those worries, she would still want to know the important people in her life and all the struggle that comes from caring. Now, that's an impossible dream, a good dream. To go shopping topside with her friends, going on a beautiful date with Tifa in Costa del Sol, basking in the wonder of the Gold Saucer. It would be nice to stay in those fantasies forever, but the future's approaches, it's survival hinging on her playing her part. So she has to let them fall to the wayside.

Till the day that we meet again On our street, I want to believe In the chance that we'll share a glance Promises to keep, we won't ever need

Much the same sentiment as the first chorus, but this time focusing on Aerith's perspective. Even though she put her carefree dreams aside, she needs to hold onto the belief that there's simply a chance for them to see each other again.

Aerith and Tifa have a recurring gesture of turning towards each other to connect, eye-to-eye, heart-to-heart. That's their way to communicate with each other in a way only they get to hear and see.

Then, in the ending scenes of Rebirth, when everyone's getting up to leave the altar, Cloud and Aerith look back to wait for Tifa, with Aerith in the foreground. When Tifa shakily gets up, takes a breath and turns around, Aerith's not there for her to look into her eyes, to share a mischievous smile with, to whisper their little jokes to. Maybe Tifa can't see Aerith now, but Aerith wants to believe that they might get to share a glance with each other one more time.

Till the day that we meet again At our place, just let me believe In the chance that you'll come Take my hand and never let me go Take my hand And believe We can be Together evermore

I don't think I need to point out how often Tifa holds onto Aerith's hand or has to catch her in her arms. Granted, a number of these happen in life-threatening situations, but we're in a JRPG here- those moments are basically flirting without calling it flirting /s. Honestly, though, these ladies give so much physical affection and care for each other. It'd take forever to put down all the examples, but you could probably find some real easy just by searching up Aerti, so let's move on to the last bit of the song.

Walking city streets with worn cobblestones Struggling against the crowds and finding ourselves all alone Fate and destiny are no guarantee Still I hope someday you'll come and find me Still I know someday you'll come and find me

Once again with walking through busy streets. Though this time the two of them make it through the crowd and get to be alone. The only crowd I can think of is Tifa pulling Aerith through the Gold Saucer crowd to get closer to the front. As for the two of them being alone, off the top of my head there's the room in Kalm and the cargo hold on the cruise ship where they're softly sharing their Pre-Order Pasts with one another... seemingly only with each other for now. And once more, there's a lack of trust put in fate and destiny.

However, she hopes and then knows that she'll be found be this person. Really reminds one of a pretty vulnerable moment Aerith had in Remake does it not?

She was already found once. She trusts that she'll be found again... someday.

#rebirth spoilers #aerti #aerith x tifa #aerith gainsborough #tifa lockhart #ffvii rebirth #ff7 #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #no promises to keep #shipping #ship thoughts #song analysis #Youtube

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blubushie · 3 months

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do u just name the guns/knives or do u name other stuff too (i'm asking respectfully)

Ok, since you come respectful I'll answer respectful.

Getting this out of the way: I'm autistic. Object personification is a symptom of autism. It is something I have. This paper will be very sad if you don't read it. I will also be referring to people as "humans" throughout this to separate from my own concept of "people."

I'm an extremely low empathy autistic, plus some other things. While I'll see non-human things as people, I also don't really see humans as people. It's more like watching animals go about their natural behaviours. I'm an outsider looking in, taking notes on behaviour and interactions within the community. I don't think of humans as any different from the animals I observe and hunt. We're all just organisms. Humans are people with our own place in the food chain, try as we might to rise above it. There is me, a person. There is Misty, a person. Once I get to know another human well, they become a person to me instead of just another animal.

Only ones this doesn't apply to is kids. I'm horribly empathetic to kids. Teenagers are on thinner ice but still get empathy. But kids fuck me up hard. If something happens to a child I'll be fucked up for days.

This doesn't mean I go around being an arsehole, because I'm polite and learnt a long time ago and that no one will ever really understand my perspective on how I see other people. They'll call you a monster, a freak, a psychopath, etc. They'll think you want to harm humans, or that you're a bad person because you don't see other humans with the same personhood as you see yourself, or say you dehumanise humans. And I don't reckon I dehumanise humans, because all of humanity is like this to me. Additionally, while I'm low-empathy, I'm not a fucking sadist. I don't want anything to suffer. Shots I take on animals are clean and accurate--ethical and humane. I try to have the same approach with people. If someone is in distress, I am going to help them because that's the right thing to do. I might not personally care about the person, but I will help them because it's good to be kind. Sometimes that means I put up with a lot more shit than I should.

When I get close enough to someone, I start seeing them as people. Those in my server, my mates, my family. If I become emotionally attached to something, my empathy starts working and they become a person to me. But this also means that anything with sentimental value to me is now granted personhood. Misty is a person. My rifle, Winnie, is a person. My knife, Kaz, is a person. My stockwhip Stozza, my ute Matilda (though really, Matilda is the camper and not the rig itself). These are all people to me. They have emotions and feelings and this paper will be very sad if you don't read it.

And when something is granted personhood, I grant it a name. There's a reason everyone in my server--my friend group--is given a nickname by me, even if most of them don't know what I've given them. There's a reason my rifle and knife and car have names. There's a reason my dog has a name. People have names.

When I first got Winnie at twelve, she was just my gun. "Can I bring my gun?" No, Jet, we don't bring guns to Macca's. "I'll leave it in the car. I just wanna bring it." I didn't wanna let her out of my sight. She was my pride and joy, even then. And later that year, after I was assaulted, there was days I'd spend shooting tins out behind our caravan, and she was the only thing that made me feel like I had any power over my life. Because she felt powerful. She made me feel safe--like if ever I needed to, I could protect myself. She couldn't change what had happened to me, but so long as she was by my side I was sure it'd never happen to me again.

When I was fifteen and went bush, I brought her with me. .30-06 is fucking overkill for rabbits, but I shot a roo with her and the meat lasted me the whole near-three weeks I was out there until the coppers found me 60km from Ghan. She kept me alive, because I didn't bring enough food for three weeks. To be fair, leaving was an impulse decision and I was also 15 at the time, but still. Her dedication to me then was rewarded with her going from a gun to my most beloved companion, and being granted the name Winnie.

They took her when I was taken into custody, and I wouldn't talk to the detective until he assured me I'd get her back once I left the copshop. I went directly from the copshop into a mental facility, but she was there at the detective's house when he pulled me out of it.

By the time I was 17 and going to high school in rural California, I was in the school carpark when I noticed one of the boys at my school had a semi-auto shotty on the rack in his ute. So on the drive home I stopped by our local gunshop and immediately bought a gunrack for my back window, which is where Winnie rests now when she's not locked in her safe in Matilda or by the door.

Eventually Kaz went from "dad's knife" to "the KA-BAR", then back to "my knife" cuz KA-BAR is a mouthful, then finally to Kaz. By the time I'd bought my camper for my ute, I'd come to terms with sometimes people just Name Things when they get attached. And as I was 17, going on 18, and homeless at the time, I immediately named her Matilda.

When I became a stockman I wasn't given a station knife because I had Kaz and told them I didn't need one, but I was given my stockwhip and after it was used on me I finally gave it the name Stozza. And sometimes I take it out and crack it a couple times just so it's not sitting there coiled in a box at the bottom of my wardrobe.

The pronouns comes with the name territory. I just get a certain vibe off things, if that makes sense? Winnie is, without a doubt, feminine to me. Kaz is feminine to me. Stozza is masculine, but I usually find myself calling him an "it" instead of masculine pronouns because while I'm attached to it for sentimental reasons, it's not quite reached a level of personhood with me yet.

Anyway, hope that covers things. Cheers.

#blu whos

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ashweather · 5 months

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Daily RPG Readings

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, Part 4

If you want to read along with me, you can get the demo copy for free on A.N.I.M.'s official site or head over to their Patreon to get a copy of the latest playtest draft for $5. I'm reading the most recent playtest draft and there are significant differences from the demo copy, just as a heads up.

Day 4! (Its totally day four! I've never missed a day in my life, you can't prove anything!) This time, we'll be going over Pages 60-94, all the way up through "Traits."

We start off going over Composure, a common 'type' of system in many games with horror elements. Right off the bat, I strongly appreciate that it's not called 'sanity' or something like that. That's a very loaded term, and composure is a much better name in my opinion. Anyone can freak out and lose their cool, especially in a tense situation. Composure is essentially a mechanic that lays out how much pressure an investigator can take before they crack. Composure rolls are called for anytime something frightening or unnerving is encountered by an investigator, with the possibility of losing up to three Composure per roll (but most often 1). Everyone has seven Composure to start, and Base Modifiers on rolls are limited by current Composure (e.g. With a Composure of 2, no roll can have a Base Modifier of higher than +2). One might think having the same starting Composure score would make every player lose it at a similar rate, but this is untrue thanks to legitimately one of the coolest takes on fear mechanics I've seen in a game like this: Tiers of Fear.

Tiers of Fear is a system which outlines common fears on a character sheet, and it varies from person to person. While many horror games will ask what your character's deepest fear or phobias are, Tiers of Fear requires a deeper examination of the things that make a character frightened. There are seven tiers, ranging from -3 (Horrifying, this tier will be deeply traumatic and upsetting to the investigator) to +3 (Ridiculous, a silly thing for the investigator to be frightened of). There will be a more thorough breakdown on Tiers of Fear later, and specifically what fears must be placed on the sheet. I'm not sure if it would make sense for the formatting of the game, but I almost wish that section was placed here so I could discuss it in more depth now. The gist is that one investigator might be used to violence but have a phobia of snakes, whereas another finds snakes cute but would be deeply frightened of violence, and these investigators would see their Composure dropping at different rates even if they encountered all of the same things.

One last note on ToF - If two frightening situations arise at the same time, the Composure roll modifiers are added together (e.g. -2 + -1 = -3). However, if the situations both have a positive modifer, then that calls for two separate Composure rolls. From a mechanical perspective, I'm unclear on why this is - why not just have compounding situations apply a -1 to the worst modifier for each compounding source of stress? That's always going to be the worst case result anyway, since modifiers to this roll can't get worse than -3 (That is, you can't have a -2 and -2 add up to make a -4. Unless that is actually a possible outcome…?).

There are a couple other scenarios that cause Composure damage. Combat always calls for a roll, but only after the situation has resolved (presumably due to adrenaline kicking in). Composure rolls are also made whenever an investigator takes damage. There's also flat composure damage from failing to attend to basic needs, like not eating or not getting enough sleep. Finally, there are a few ways to regain composure - attending to basic needs or being the beneficiary of a Comfort roll from another investigator (more on that when we get to skills). Optionally, investigators may also regain composure from making major headway in an investigation, at the Narrator's discretion. Lastly, there is an optional rule for the erratic behavior caused by Composure falling to zero - a 1d6 roll is called for to determine how the investigator cracks. This is a useful tool and I'm glad its there(particularly for players unaccustomed to this type of game), as an aid in portraying unstable behavior.

There's a very fun optional rule next - the Jumpscare. When the investigator is surprised by something that may or may not be a scary creature or threat, they may Jump or Not Jump. If the investigator jumps, they make a flat +0 composure roll immediately, but get a +2 on their next roll to deal with the threat. If they don't jump, there's no inherent composure roll but there is a -2 penalty to their next roll. Mechanically, this is basically a gamble - jumping tends to be more advantageous if there really is a monster or threat there, whereas not jumping is better if there isn't. Of course, good roleplay and how an investigator actually would react is what should be informing this decision.

Skills are up next. Skill lists are a pretty standard thing in TTRPGs, of course. One thing to note is that just about any skill could conceivably be used for Investigation rolls, which is really cool! There's three categories of skills in Eureka: Interpersonal, Knowledge, and Physical. In very broad terms (skills in Eureka are very flexible), Interpersonal skills are used for interacting with NPCs, Knowledge skills are used for, well, knowing things, and Physical skills are used for interacting with the world. I won't be going through all the skills, but I will go over some highlights.

Comfort is used to calm someone agitated, especially in a tense or dangerous situation, but can also be used to restore Composure to fellow investigators. Paperwork is a pretty neat skill that lets a character read quickly and pick out important information from a text - its more handy than you might think! The Senses skill covers detection, but usually only in edge cases where no other skill makes sense, and an investigator will generally not need to roll Senses to see something - Senses applies mostly to the other four senses. There's also a selection of optional skills with more specific applications, which is always nice to have.

A huge highlight to "The Redacted Skill." This skill is completely blacked out in the Skills section, and is meant to be unknown to the new players. As stated in the book, "The type of player who would put points into an unknown, mysterious skill is just the type of person who would have high marks in this skill." I really love this element of mystery, an intriguing tidbit that puts something tantalizingly secret right on the character sheet. More on this skill waaaaay later, towards the end of the book.

There's a brief section on "when to roll skill checks" and I'm really thrilled that this guidance is here. I find that learning when to call for rolls (i.e. impartial arbitration to the narrative) is a hugely important skill for GMs to have, probably in the top five most important skills a new GM can develop. Having this philosophy of play here to outline exactly when Eureka wants rolls to be made is a very welcome addition.

#a.n.i.m.#book club #daily reading #eureka #eureka: investigative urban fantasy #rpg analysis #ttrpg

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angelgoddard · 10 months

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i would like some of your views for my situation right now. i found out about loa and stuff 2 years ago. i’ve always wanted to manifest an entire differe life, everything different. i did affirming, visualization, void, sats, and many more but nothing worked. i came up with my own rules then, just deciding and affirming once then the desires will materialize into 3D, that didn’t work either. i don’t know what to do. everything is suffocating me, i literally cried for like an hour before i decided to ask you. everything is getting hopeless. i don’t know what i’m doing wrong. i keep repeating to myself, i have it i have it, done it for like 2 years. nothing worked till now. i kept questioning me if all these success stories could, why can’t i? i’m literally so discouraged and exhausted i just cry so often these days. please help. sos

hi baby :( i'm really sorry to hear about your struggles with the law! i was actually like this myself for a while too, i understood the law but i couldn't make any meaningful change in my life.

the way i got it together was by going back to the source. the book that helped me realize everything was "how to manifest your desires" by neville goddard. it was a long book, so i took my time going through it and read it whenever i was free to do so. the most important things to know are:

1. conciousness is the only reality.

2. persistence is key.

3. thoughts/emotions do not manifest.

4. you are not doing methods to "get", you are doing methods to stop hunger.

5. the sabbath state should be the goal, not getting desires in the 3d.

the manifestation process is very simple. one, decide what you want. two, persist in the assumption that you have what you want. three, fulfill yourself and the law will do its job. stop placing value on the 3d, and dwell in imagination. the reason you've been unable to make progress is because you're placing value on the 3d and not focusing on ending the inner man's hunger. you know these essentials, and all you have to do is apply.

settle down with one method. for you, i'd recommend staying away from the void and doing sats. (if you need a different method, feel free to send another ask and i can suggest smth else!) pick a single scenario that lasts no longer than a few seconds and loop it as you fall asleep. don't worry about feeling emotions or anything, just loop it. throughout the day, close your eyes and think fo your desires from the perspective of having them. do not attempt to police your thoughts or force them to be what you want them to be. let them pass by your mind with no acknowledgement unless they reflect the state in which you wish to be. do whatever you need to do in the 3d, but don't identify with any of it if it doesn't reflect your desires.

eventually you will get to the point in your journey where your thoughts will begin to naturally flow from the wish fulfilled state. you will begin to not feel the need to participate in any methods or affirmations. your desire will no longer be a desire, and rather something you have. your desire may be on your mind so much that it "haunts" you in a way that's familiar and not in a lacking one. this is called the sabbath state, which should be the true goal. the sabbath is the gestational period where movement occurs to grant you your desire in the 3d. (during the sabbath, you can still engage in methods if you wish.) when it does come, it shouldn't feel like something you've been desperately waiting for, but more like a pleasant event.

tldr;

1. focus on imagination only.

2. fulfill the inner man until you stop desiring.

3. place no value on the 3d.

4. stop forcing yourself to do something to "get". there is no getting because creation is finished.

you can do this! there is no failure in the law <3 i believe in you with my whole heart!

#law of assumption #answering asks #manifestation #miss know it all ♡#minnie luvs the law ♡

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bloody-wonder · 2 months

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top 5 villains in fiction? Or alternatively, top 5 antagonists, totally up to you.

thank youuuuu :)

lol so i'm very obnoxious about what kind of character does or does not constitute a villain/an antagonist so these are like top 5 that passed that rigorous selection process

graham reid malett aka gabriel (the lymond chronicles). so my problem with villanous characters is that i'm a contrary bitch and when authors want me to really hate someone i usually end up either not caring either way or actively rooting for them lmao. but with gabriel dunnett managed to create someone truly terrifying and compelling at the same time. he's sort of a variation on lymond himself in the sense that he's what other characters think lymond should be - he's a version of lymond that conforms. or seems to conform, to put it more accurately, but that's the horror of it all - being a good man vs. seeming like one, and who's to say what's more important in the grand scheme of things? so the depiction of how any reasonably talented sociopath can charm his way to power and none will be the wiser is very realistic and scary but also - his villain monologues? outstanding. his gaslighting game? virtuoso. the homoerotic tension with the hero? off the charts. yet to be dethroned as my favorite villain of all time.

azula (avatar: the last airbender). i just like how cool and competent and dramatic she is and tbh the gaang were able to beat her only bc she conveniently got a bad case of mommy issues at the end. the last agni kai lives in my mind rent free - truly one of the greatest moments of cinema history.

milady de winter (the three musketeers, especially the 1978 adaptation). i knoooow she's the problematic femme fatale trope or whatever but i don't care. she's the blueprint. she has that sad backstory of being used and abused by men but i don't even particularly care about that either. she's an evil spy ladyboss i connected with on a neurological level when i was 11 and i have loved seeing her winning battles and losing wars again and again ever since.

lord voldemort (harry potter). tbh just a classic nostalgic "i want dominion over everything" kind of villain who at the same time represents evil and insidious real world ideologies that we like to think we defeated once and for all until they rise again - and in a very ironic fashion too, given by whomst this particular villain has been authored. i like voldemort's iconography and origin story but i also like how at the end of the day he remains a "flat" sort of villain with none of that boohoo nonsense. like, seriously, sometimes one needs less snivelling and more "there is no good and evil, there is only power and those too weak to seek it". i like the trope of having to collect a number of macguffins and do things in a very specific way in order to defeat him - and it does feel satisfying to see the characters finally accomplish it.

shen jiu (the scum villain's self-saving system). lol unlike in the case of milady i do care about shen jiu's backstory insofar as it means he has done nothing wrong ever in his life but he's on this list bc he's the titular scum villain and the book itself is about interrogating the roles people play in each other's lives and how those can be reframed if we change the perspective of the narrative. shen jiu is the villain bc luo binghe is the protag - the book tells us so on the meta level. but then as shen yuan learns more about shen jiu - and especially when we read the extra stories from shen jiu's pov - "villain" does not apply anymore as per my very specific criteria lol. in this regard shen jiu is also notable for asking one of the realest questions: while trying to get him to reconcile with liu qingge yue qingyuan says something like "do him a kindness and he'll return it tenfold" - to which shen jiu replies "ah but that's the thing - why should i be the one to be kind first?". bc if you think about it "why should i be the one to break the cycle of violence?" is one of the fundamental villain questions.

#book tag #tv show tag #movie tag

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thelazyecrivain · 1 year

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Fluffbruary - Day 15 (radio)

Fifteen day of @fluffbruary, using the prompt "radio"

Read on AO3

French version

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"He told me he was back and I should stop complaining." Says the voice on the phone. In the studio, everyone makes a face.

"He cheated on you for two years without an ounce of remorse, he's someone who won't change for love. And I doubt there's any love there. You have to leave him, he already destroyed your trust in him, you will destroy yourself if you stay with him."

Everyone nodded, but the young woman on the other end of the line said nothing.

"The question you have to ask yourself is: 'What do I want to build with this person? Ask yourself if you see yourself with him in several years."

Still nothing, John signalled to the control room if the call was disconnected. They signalled that it was not.

"Leila? Are you still there?" It was a fake name, she wanted to keep her identity anonymous so they had agreed on a name at the beginning of the call.

"Yes... I'm here, it's just that- I love him, but he hurt me so much I could never forgive him." She's on the verge of tears, her voice trembling. "I don't want to see him anymore, but part of me wants to believe, to hold on to it."

"I can't give you a magic solution, I can only help you with your choice." Reminds John.

"Remember the questions you can ask yourself. It can help you a lot." Brings up Mike.

"I know it sounds silly, but talk to your close friends. If they really care about you, they'll tell you what they really think. And they know you and your boyfriend better than we do. Having an outside perspective can only help. Sometimes you just have to take a step back from the situation."

"Yeah, I'll do that. I've got my best friend who won't hesitate to tell me what she'd do in my place."

"Perfect! I'm sorry but we'll have to leave, our time is up. It's been a pleasure Leila, I hope everything works out for you."

"Thank you so much, John. That really helped me. Good luck with the rest."

The control room signals that the call is definitely cut off, and that he should finish the show.

"Ladies, gentlemen and others, this is unfortunately the end of our show. Sorry for all the people waiting for us to take your call. But remember that our advice doesn't just apply to one person. You can apply it to your situation to help you move forward. And if you have any feedback, other tips for us or to help our callers, please feel free to put it on our website doctoroftheheart/kingscollege.com."

The "on air" light went out and John sighed with relief. Finally finished.

He joined the university radio station three months ago. It's entirely student-run. Mike told him about it when he complained that he wanted to play rugby but it was too time-consuming, so he offered to join the team and do a show once a week. This gives John time for his medical classes, and every Wednesday night for three hours he gets out of his shabby flat to think about other things and help people with their heart problems with Mike. They call the show " Doctor of the Heart".

"The ratings are up again from last week. Looks like your show is doing well, John." Comes a deep voice behind him. John jumped, not having seen the man coming up behind him.

"Sherlock, you scared me."

What he hadn't thought about when he joined the radio was that he might find the most handsome and intelligent man he'd ever met. Sherlock has had an effect on him since he arrived and if he thought it would pass with time, he was wrong and feels like he's falling for the man with the impeccable suit and the unbeatable brain a little more each week

"Must be the experience." Mike replied to Sherlock's remark.

He was known to be in one relationship after another, and when he saw Sherlock look up at the mention of his former partners, he never regretted it more.

"We're going for a drink, do you want to come with us?" Molly asks. She's in charge of programming and despite her shyness, everyone respects her ideas and requests. Everyone loves her, especially Greg, the one in charge of the budget.

"Good idea!" John said.

Mike nodded too and against all odds, so did Sherlock. He's known to be anti-social and grouchy. Not that John doesn't like him coming with them.

They leave the building where the radio station is located, and head for the nearest bar. It's eight o'clock at night, the young people are just starting their parties, and if John didn't have an exam the next morning, he would have stayed until late.

Instead he just drinks a pint of beer, talking with the others about future projects, organisation, but also about college, courses, the most boring teachers, and their love life. Young people's topics.

"And that's how Sherlock managed to make the toughest teacher in the whole college cry. I thought everyone was going to applaud him. Sherlock did the impossible." Laughs Molly. Everyone is almost folded in half, Sherlock with a proud sneer.

"He wanted to know what I thought. He never made it clear he was talking about the course, not his dead dog." Explained Sherlock.

The laughter resumed around the table.

"Oh my God, you're my hero." Said John between laughs. Not everyone missed Sherlock's blush, except John.

The conversations continue throughout the evening, until one by one they go home as the clock ticks down, so that John ends up alone with Sherlock and Mike. The latter is his roommate, and seeing his friend's slightly drunken state, John thinks it's wiser to go home with him. He's never held his liquor, which makes John smile but also sigh as he remembers that he's the one who'll have to drag him to bed.

"Joooooohn. You know you're the best mate ever." Says Mike as John pulls him out of his seat and off the bar. John laughs while trying to keep his friend upright.

"You tell me that every time you have more than three drinks."

"Need any help?"

John turned to Sherlock. He accepted without thinking. A little help wouldn't hurt him. John put an arm around his shoulders and Sherlock, because of his height, took Mike over his arm and together they managed to get him out of the bar, towards their flat. Thank God they are only a five minute walk away.

"John is the best thing that could happen to you." Mike said to Sherlock.

John rolled his eyes but couldn't stop his blush. When he attempts a look at Sherlock, he seems captivated by what Mike is saying.

"He's a good friend. He'll do anything to help you. And he's handsome too." Mike finishes with a wink. Sherlock smiled, amused.

"He seems to like you."

"Whenever he drinks a little too much, he likes to say that everyone is great. You shouldn't listen to him, the alcohol exaggerates everything he says."

"I don't think he's wrong." Says Sherlock while looking him up and down suggestively. John is speechless. Is he hitting on him? John hopes with all his heart that he is. He loves his friend Mike, but what he would give not to have him between them right now.

The road continued like this, Mike talking about his great friends, especially John. Sherlock listens to everything he says, and smiles when Mike compliments the future doctor.

***

"His room is on the right."

Sherlock let go of Mike and went to open the door, John following behind with the weight his friend has become. He set him down -threw him down to be honest- on the bed and stretched his tired muscles before starting to prepare his friend for the night. If he didn't do it now, he would fall asleep and it would be impossible to wake him up.

"Help me take off his shoes." John asks Sherlock.

Sherlock did so and soon Mike was rid of his shoes, John taking off his shirt while the dark-haired man removed his coat. Mike didn't move, half asleep, muttering into his beard. Without telling him, Sherlock searched and quickly found his pyjamas and handed them to John. The latter thanked him, still as surprised as ever to be beaten to his every word and gesture.

It was too cold in the flat to leave him in just his boxers so John put the T-shirt on him, and started to take off his trousers when Mike stood up suddenly to the surprise of the other two men. "You should do that with Sh'rlock." He said with a wink. John blushed and didn't dare look at Sherlock. Instead, he continued to remove his friend's trousers and finally slipped him under the sheets.

He walked out of the room, Sherlock at his heels.

"Sorry about..." He said with a wave of his hand towards Mike's room.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "That was fun to see." He said with an amused look.

John offered him something to drink but Sherlock refused, saying he had to go home. Something to do with his brother apparently. John was disappointed, this is one of the few times he is finally alone with him. He accompanies him down the block. He's a gentleman after all.

"Thanks for the help, I don't know how I would have done it without you." Says John once he gets to the bottom of the building.

"It was a pleasure." Sherlock looked him straight in the eye, a slight smile on his lips. The streetlights lit up his face, making it soft but as if untouchable.

When John thought he was going to turn to leave, he caught him walking towards him. He kissed him gently on the cheek before pulling away to give him a seductive smile. "Good night, John." He said in his deep voice before abandoning him outside the building.

John watched him go, his mouth hanging open, the feel of his lips on his cheek. When he saw Sherlock turn the corner, disappearing from his field of vision, he woke up from his trance and started to run after him. He caught up quickly, tugging on his arm to get his attention.

"You could do it properly next time." He said before pulling him towards him to kiss him.

He felt Sherlock tense in surprise before relaxing, his hands settling in the hollow of his back to pull him closer. John framed his face, diving even deeper into the kiss. He's kissed dozens of people, but never with such intensity, a shiver running through his body as their lips move together.

They are breathless when they part, not letting go of each other.

"I'll try to remember that next time." Sherlock finally says. Still dazed from the kiss, it took John a while to figure out what he was referring to. They laughed stupidly. "I'll have that last drink after all."

John could only smile and pull him by the hand towards the flat.

Everyone applauded them when they returned hand in hand the following week to John's radio show.

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