#A queue in the dark beguiles me
Text
sometimes people will say something like "Satori is one of the more reasonable and mild Touhou characters" and I'm like
Satori Komeiji.
Satori "I'm an 11 out of 10, actually" Komeiji.
Satori "Hypnotizes people into reliving traumatic* memories" Komeiji.
*okay, so the memories she calls up in-game aren't particularly dire, but the descriptions of her spell cards use the word 'trauma' frequently and say basically that she roots around in people's brains for memories she can use to hurt them, so.
Satori "talks over people constantly" Komeiji.
Satori "Zero respect for privacy" Komeiji.
Satori "My 7/10 sister's real problem is that she doesn't like violating people's privacy" Komeiji.
That Satori.
It's not actually an invalid takeaway, really, but it's so different from mine that I'm always kinda floored.
#touhou#touhou project#satori komeiji#koishi is someone who let ostracization corrupt her thinking until she genuinely believed that she was committing a crime by existing#satori is someone who let ostracization corrupt her thinking until she decided that she was objectively superior to everyone else#and the only reason anyone could possibly have to take issue with her is tall poppy syndrome#a queue in the dark beguiles me
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Mary Elaine LeBey
* * * *
The Sun, Mad Envious, Just Wants the Moon
Patricia Smith
out of the way. It knows that I tend to cling
to potential in the dark, that I am myself only
as I am beguiled by the moon’s lunatic luster,
when the streets are so bare they grow voices.
The sun has lost patience with my craving
for the night’s mass-produced romance, that
dog-eared story where every angle is exquisite,
and ghostly suitors, their sleek smells exploding,
queue up to ravish my waning. Bursting with
bluster, the sun backslaps the moon to reveal
me, splintered, kissing the boulevard face first,
clutching change for a jukebox that long ago
lost its hunger for quarters. It wounds the sun
to know how utterly I have slipped its gilded
clutch to become its most mapless lost cause.
Her eye bulging, she besieges me with bright.
So I remind her that everything dies. All the
brilliant bitch can do for me then is spit light
on the path while I search for a place to sleep.
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“The Sun, Mad Envious, Just Wants the Moon” — Patricia Smith
out of the way. It knows that I tend to cling
to potential in the dark, that I am myself only
as I am beguiled by the moon’s lunatic luster,
when the streets are so bare they grow voices.
The sun has lost patience with my craving
for the night’s mass-produced romance, that
dog-eared story where every angle is exquisite,
and ghostly suitors, their sleek smells exploding,
queue up to ravish my waning. Bursting with
bluster, the sun backslaps the moon to reveal
me, splintered, kissing the boulevard face first,
clutching change for a jukebox that long ago
lost its hunger for quarters. It wounds the sun
to know how utterly I have slipped its gilded
clutch to become its most mapless lost cause.
Her eye bulging, she besieges me with bright.
So I remind her that everything dies. All the
brilliant bitch can do for me then is spit light
on the path while I search for a place to sleep.
0 notes
Text
To summarise:
6x3 aka Just for the Devil of It!
Brace yourselves, because this recap is going to be insufferable [spelled: *incypherable*; pronunciation tip: use Sam’s Brooklyn accent).
Mr L. strolls into town hell-bent to collect Abigail’s cursed souls and then some.
Pop gives away food for free, and -bam!- in comes Lucifer with a bonus heart attack. Is Capitalism the Devil? If this is symbolism, then I want more!
FBI agent Glen Scot calls FBI agent Betty Cooper, who’s appropriately dressed in her FBI t-shirt, because this is about FBI business.
Betty needs to wring a confession out of TBK (The Trash Bag Killer, Glen helpfully reminds the audience, in case we’ve forgotten what the acronym stands for after all this time) because they can’t link him to any of the murders. Which, in turn, begs the question of how they got him in custody in the first place.
Dark Betty should have been living her best life in Rivervale. Instead, she’s having a(nother) moral crisis.
A serial killer who tortures and dismembers young women (and children?) tells Betty she is evil. I’m shooketh. By the fact that Betty takes this at heart. She takes a cleansing shower in atmospheric blue light.
Alice who had helped sacrifice Archie only 2 episodes ago believes a casino will damn the town. This is interesting considering neither serial killer ex-husband Hal nor serial killer son Charles have ever set foot in one. I guess not everything is in continuity in Rivervale. Cheryl-authorised ritualistic killings only?
While Veronica is bullshitting the og bullshitter (Alice) about her casino, Reggie makes sure the viewers know how illegal everything is in there.
This is an American show, therefore the Devil has a British accent.
He attempts to blackmail Tabitha for Pop’s soul, who’d given it away in exchange for his pop’s soul. Apparently, Tate Sr had sold it in order to ensure the Diner’s success. As the Diner has been struggling, I fail to see how the Devil’s in position to make any propositions. As the original deal ensures the success of “[Tabitha’s] family Diner”, one could argue that the wording implies an obligation to keep the Diner in her family. What in the Devil, writing team?
“Think it over and let me know” says the Devil and hands Tabitha his visiting card, which has no telephone number on it. There’s an address though: Hell is apparently in USA. (But not in Rivervale).
Guess who’s back? Back again? Typewriter’s back! Tell a friend!
“What does the Devil want with a Chock’lit Shoppe?” Jughead, asking the important questions.
It’s the “soft opening” for Babylonium(?) casino. Kevin who did tickle porn for extra cash he didn’t need back in High School, knows a bad deal when he sees one and immediately shakes hands with the Devil in exchange for success, which this show canonically denies him.
Queue musical number.
“I'm wild again, beguiled again / A simpering, whimpering child again / Bewitched, bothered and bewildereddeviled- am I”, sings Kevin. Or he would have, if the writers had a sense of humour.
I don’t believe I’m saying this but … it turns out that Alice was right about this casino breading evil-doing. Yikes!
Veronica explains Lu Cypher’s name, so that all the viewers are aware of the gloriousness that is the Riverdale writers’ room.
The only people on Mr Lu’s list are Archie’s friends. This is highly suspicious. Is it because they’re the show’s main characters or is the Ginger Judas involved in this?
Lu and Ronnie have a chat with fire breathers at the background. Hello, symbolism, my old friend.
It’s a devil of a job but Jughead manages to track down Lucypher and have a talk with him at RHS. He calls it An Interview with the Devil, so that the viewers know that the opportunity for a cult pop reference was not lost on the writers.
The Devil will reveal all the universe’s mysteries to him and Jughead will have to choose between getting fame and glory and never writing again OR creatively scribbling away in obscurity for the rest of his days.
Jughead who’s spent his youth reading Moby Dick and the Beat Generation, but apparently has never heard of Goethe’s Faust, falls for the trap and immediately regrets it. He signs his soul to the Devil in exchange for getting his creative juices all over Betty’s gift.
(Too much?)
Remember how Veronica had fake-flirted with Nick St. Clair back in 2x19, before she’d given him a taste of his own medicine and got $1 million as ransom for his sorry ass in the process? Well, Nick doesn’t and neither do the writers. He falls again for the same trick and signs his soul to the Devil, which seems somewhat redundant, as most viewers had assumed he’d already done that as a teenager.
Reggie gets scorned by Satan, in case we’ve forgotten he’s not as good as Archie. It turns out the Devil was not after his soul after all. Reggie claims to have helped Lu trap Veronica’s soul because he knew she’d find a way out. I guess he just forgot to tell her all about it till now.
Apparently, the She-Wolf of Wall Street had been signing documents without reading them first. This would have never happened if Hiram were still in town. Just saying.
You know it’s Hell, when there’s not one but two musical numbers.
Lu proposes to take Alice’s soul in exchange for Veronica’s. Veronica has cold feet.
You had one job, Ronnie! One! Job!
She eventually saves herself by offering other people’s souls: one each week for the rest of her life. Endgame lover Reggie goes first. You know, the one soul Lu didn’t want in the first place? Peak Riverdale writing.
TBK turns out to be the Devil in disguise. Literally. In a town full of serial killers and Riverparents (usually one and the same), he calls Betty the Mother of all Evil aka The Whore of Babylon. This is the second time Babylon is referenced, because the writers are like a dog with a bone, when they think they’ve got a good idea.
Glen-no-wedding-rings-detected-in-s5-Scot magically acquires a wife. Betty does her a solid one by offing him for her.
To be fair, she was tricked by the Devil. No contracts for Betty, only self-reflection on a rocking chair.
Remember how s6a was supposed to be a battle between good and evil? No? Well, Riverdale just did! Relax, it hasn’t happened yet. It was just mentioned. THREE times. To make up for the previous 2 episodes.
Archangel Raphael appears to help Tabitha and reward the Tates for all the good they’ve been doing with the Diner. Is this a good time to mention, that -as per this episode’s canon- said good Diner has also been under the Devil’s contract all this time? There’s some kind of contradiction here but who cares?
Pop is alive and well! For one hot minute I thought he’d die and we’d see him in 6x4 all taped up à la Underwood.
Anyway. The Devil produces a contract for Tabitha. Pop signs it instead … because … reasons? They all celebrate with Pop’s famous milkshakes, spiced with the Virgin’s tears (no joking), which enable the Tates to kick Lu out of the Diner. Is there anything Pop’s milkshakes can’t do?
Toffee took her winnings from the previous episode’s bets and went to Veronica’s casino. She would have stayed longer but the untrustworthy albeit hot British gentleman at table 13 made her fur crawl and then Kevin started singing. She invested her money on premium solid wild tuna and a gold-plated can opener. You can never go wrong with canned goods when there’s a battle brewing.
Next episode is all about the character the writers didn’t have time to mention in 6x3.
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“The Sun, Mad Envious, Just Wants the Moon” - Patricia Smith
out of the way. It knows that I tend to cling
to potential in the dark, that I am myself only
as I am beguiled by the moon’s lunatic luster,
when the streets are so bare they grow voices.
The sun has lost patience with my craving
for the night’s mass-produced romance, that
dog-eared story where every angle is exquisite,
and ghostly suitors, their sleek smells exploding,
queue up to ravish my waning. Bursting with
bluster, the sun backslaps the moon to reveal
me, splintered, kissing the boulevard face first,
clutching change for a jukebox that long ago
lost its hunger for quarters. It wounds the sun
to know how utterly I have slipped its gilded
clutch to become its most mapless lost cause.
Her eye bulging, she besieges me with bright.
So I remind her that everything dies. All the
brilliant bitch can do for me then is spit light
on the path while I search for a place to sleep.
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Sumbitted by: @mantrabay
Ballroom In The Sky.
Gazing with his mouth wide open towards a sullen evening sky dotted with jet black clouds
Geoff Wild weeps.
He was on his knees on this grass-strewn, unkempt graveyard.
Two years later and her memory still lingers.
The sudden passing of his loved one had left this middle-aged man gaunt, ashen faced and skeletal. Wild’s troubled expression had become a haunted house of uncanny notions and strange secrets waiting to flow from his water-logged eyes. Those circumstances surrounding Violet’s death were never clear.
Velvet Heart was Geoff’s courtship name for Violet.
Was it a death wish or an accidental fall from their elegant townhouse?
Death through misadventure was the colourful term used.
“Cherish all those wonderful experiences we had. Whichever one of us dies first.”
Violet actually said.
Almost as if she had some premonition.
This was six months before she passed away. .An endless see-saw of creepy dawning’s convulsed him.
Yet Wild fondly recalled when they first met at the Skyline Ballroom.
The Skyline was a battered tumbledown barn whose allure was its availability.
The chipped hardwood floor and the dusty pale cream walls with paint flakes that peeled off only confirmed its tenement status. It was known locally as the “Creaking Beam”” due to its ghostly acoustics and flickering lights. Here in this spooky venue Geoff and Violet had their earliest encounter. Wild remembered her radiant smiles.
The ripples of long dark hair, her apple blossom cheeks and of course her angelic aura..
On that night she wore a polka dot ruche dress, amethyst ear pendants, whilst sporting satin moccasins.
“Have I the gumption? The courage.
A faint heart etc.” Geoff could hear his heart flutter as he did his tightrope walk toward her.
“May I dance with you?” Geoff asked.
Velvet heart’s hands formed a lazy arch and her dainty fingers curled inwards.
“Of course. I would be delighted.” Violet spoke in that pear drop tone which beguiled everybody.
Geoff, the local journalist and writer was in seventh heaven.
They never forgot that enchanting song they first danced to, “Ballroom In The Sky.”
The song was performed by Valerie And The Blue Skies.
They weren’t very big but had a cult following..
Geoff could see how similar Violet and Valerie were.
They were mirror images of each other.
Even in speech and humour.
Valerie was based in a remote enigmatic area.
She used to refer to songs as role plays.
“You feel as though you are a member of the audience.” Valerie remarked.
Violet did admit to meeting Valerie casually and for autograph purposes but not otherwise or so it seemed.
It was amazing how “ Ballroom In The Sky” with its airy ascending rock chords and jaunty jazz lines could draw Violet, Valerie and Geoff into a peculiar triangle.
The sudden moody breaks, abrupt silences built a momentary cocoon.
Valerie’s top sideman….well, he was known as Silent Sam.
He had a track record of sorts.
Sam’s blue attire was appropriate.
He wore a large trilby hat tipped over his forehead sheltering his pointed face and pencil slim physique.
He, Sam, was short-sighted when it suited and eccentric.
Practical jokes were his forte and the impish grin.
“Yep ..Yup….or Sure.“
These were the only asides from this oddball sidemen for the most part.
He was accident prone.
Valerie had to indicate where things were. Theirs was a sign language of its own complete with slanted facial squirms.
One wondered if there was a deeper relationship between them.
Those Blue Skies airs were fillers without Sam.
Every time “Ballroom In The Sky” was played Valerie, Violet and Geoff were sharing unwittingly a secret.
The startled looks were part of this outlandish ritual.
Wild recalled now.
“Valerie could croon in a real hypnotic fashion. Everyone in the dancehall was enthralled. People would sway like ice skaters one moment, waltz in a swan-like manner the next and just as often rave in the isles like end of term teenagers.”
Geoff whispers in the graveyard.
“JUST A PASSING DREAM………..STILL SO VIVID…….DANCING IN HEAVEN…… KISSES ALL AROUND….MAGIC HAND……..A LITTLE BIT BLIND, and of course “BALLROOM IN THE SKY.”
Geoff and Violet would swing religiously to those fantasy songs every Sunday as their courtship blossomed.
“Ballroom In The Sky “ was always the highpoint.
This constellation of events occurred in a scenic nineteen seventies spot.
Despite its haunting vistas and backdrop of panoramic hills it resembled a ghost town. Openings were few against an infinite spiral of closing factories, bookstores with half-empty shelves and shopkeepers peering out of doors.
Ten years earlier it was a beacon. “I shudder to think……A jigsaw puzzle.”
Geoff surveying the cemetery.
Such memories could have been taken directly from some movie script. “Yes .. it was a hub that Skyline. Like homeless drifters, the folk who attended.”
Geoff again.
They were fugitives.
Escapees from that heavy-handed dole queue void.
Suddenly something happened.
“What the heavens is? Snap….a branch.” Momentary jitters engulfing Wild.
He shook in concert with the overarching colonnade of brown edge green leaf trees.
An eerie rustling dewdrop tiptoe now caressing Geoff’s ears.
”Up there somewhere Velvet Heart?
Dancing in the heavens?”
Nervous laughter now relief road to that traffic jam of sentiment about to speed off.
Glued to the spot that macabre sixth sense of Violet hovering above evaporates due to an illusory late evening sun shaft.
Wild could no longer hide from Valerie and Velvet Heart’s identities.
“Oh those comic jibes and piercing glances. Some ethereal intrigues were passing through the air.”
Geoff recalls with forensic clarity.
Poor Silent Sam would do his usual u-turn into the shadow.
Two months before Geoff’s and Violet’s parting, an incident occurred.
Memory is a lodger which steadfastly refuses to surrender its keys.
Valerie and the Blue Skies were in flying form as the tunes morphed into each other.
Valerie and Velvet Heart were magnets for men.
Violet caught Geoff off guard.
“Guilty conscience, there Geoff?”
Having fantasies about Valerie.
Focus on me.
As for that eternity ring remember?”
Those penetrating peepers of Violet knew how to vet a body in a flash.
“Oh no …..not at all.” Geoff with a looping
smirk.
“Just those mystical melodies working their spell.” He said.
“You came into my life like…. a new dawn.” Wild poetically.
“You honey tongue you. Geoff our song. Ballroom.” Violet mutters.
Valerie nodded towards Sam.
Her expression was a hard to decipher veil and deep code command.
“Get those fingers flying, Sam.”
In a tone almost identical to Velvet Heart.
Sam didn’t always act immediately.
“Yep.. Yup …Sure.” Sam’s stock retort.
“Ballroom In The Sky” now strong as ever cast its bewitching spell throughout the venue.
A medley was included tonight.
“SOMEONE FOR EVERYONE” ( Sam looked at Valerie), “A LITTLE BIT BLIND” ( Sam staring vacantly at both Valerie and Violet), “MIND YOUR STEP( Sam winking at Geoff while scrunching the mouth at Violet).
Violet edged toward the stage.
A dim-lit silence ensued.
Ballroom started again. Valerie and Violet now singing this tune. An eerie vacuum filled this dancehall.
A triangular crush of people occurred near the stage with Geoff in toe.
Valerie handed Violet a letter.
Sam was now talking tersely to Valerie.
A misted over photo gallery memory blur in place.
“Pst…Pst. Your Velvet Heart is back to haunt you.“ Violet’s lofty twang.
“What in the name….I can’t phantom…..fathom.” Geoff shudders.
Violet’s voice a wet whisper stretching over twigs that simultaneously tap against windows.
She pulled back an orchard pattern duvet covering Geoff.
“Fell asleep at your favourite film, The Passing Of A Velvet Heart. All those graveyard scenes shot in our small town remember?
We know Silent Sam wrote the soundtrack for the film along with Ballroom. He sings on that one.” Violet recounts.
“Incredibly you chose Velvet Heart as your courtship name for me based on the film.
The film was never a huge success but did get our area limited publicity.
Sam earned extra royalties from the soundtrack.
Valerie and Sam tying the knot next Sunday of all days.
As for that love letter you mumbled about.
It’s an invite to their secret wedding.
Very private. As Sam is.
What a time and place he chose for the invitation.
During that ethereal love song which brought us together.” Violet observes.
“Poor Sam’s a little bit blind a
on occasions or is he?
I was upstairs on the flat roof today.
Six months ago I fell off it.
You’ve never liked me being up there since.”
Violet continuing.
“Guilty secret must confess. I used to be onstage instead of Valerie.
Well, sometimes.
She was dating you pretending to be me.
We never knew each other that well but it was a dare worked out between us.“
Geoff shouted. “Hoodwinked.”
An incredulous look ripples over Wild’s pale face.
Violet’s eyes now ablaze.
“You never noticed did you? Deep down.”
The tease in Violet surfacing..
Geoff was thunderstruck.
Violet strolled towards their CD player on the mahogany table.
“Think you’ll like this one. Our song.”
Violet stated.
“May I dance with you?”
Geoff smiled. “Of course. I would be delighted.
And relieved!”
Silent Sam’s voice weaves in his own inimitable shy way a song usually sung by Valerie, his wife to be.
And sometimes Violet, or Velvet Heart.
A number that united three people in the most curious and otherworldly manner!
“Yep….Yup ….Sure.”
As Sam was in the habit of saying!
mantrabay photograph and short story copyright protected.
Thanks for reading my works
.
#mantrabay#submission sunday#reblog#written word#short story#fiction#submission#photographers on tumblr#photography#original photography#other#Ballroom In The Sky
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Ballroom In The Sky.
Gazing with his mouth wide open towards a sullen evening sky dotted with jet black clouds
Geoff Wild weeps.
He was on his knees on this grass-strewn, unkempt graveyard.
Two years later and her memory still lingers.
The sudden passing of his loved one had left this middle-aged man gaunt, ashen faced and skeletal. Wild’s troubled expression had become a haunted house of uncanny notions and strange secrets waiting to flow from his water-logged eyes. Those circumstances surrounding Violet’s death were never clear.
Velvet Heart was Geoff’s courtship name for Violet.
Was it a death wish or an accidental fall from their elegant townhouse?
Death through misadventure was the colourful term used.
“Cherish all those wonderful experiences we had. Whichever one of us dies first.”
Violet actually said.
Almost as if she had some premonition.
This was six months before she passed away. .An endless see-saw of creepy dawning’s convulsed him.
Yet Wild fondly recalled when they first met at the Skyline Ballroom.
The Skyline was a battered tumbledown barn whose allure was its availability.
The chipped hardwood floor and the dusty pale cream walls with paint flakes that peeled off only confirmed its tenement status. It was known locally as the “Creaking Beam”” due to its ghostly acoustics and flickering lights. Here in this spooky venue Geoff and Violet had their earliest encounter. Wild remembered her radiant smiles.
The ripples of long dark hair, her apple blossom cheeks and of course her angelic aura..
On that night she wore a polka dot ruche dress, amethyst ear pendants, whilst sporting satin moccasins.
“Have I the gumption? The courage.
A faint heart etc.” Geoff could hear his heart flutter as he did his tightrope walk toward her.
“May I dance with you?” Geoff asked.
Velvet heart’s hands formed a lazy arch and her dainty fingers curled inwards.
“Of course. I would be delighted.” Violet spoke in that pear drop tone which beguiled everybody.
Geoff, the local journalist and writer was in seventh heaven.
They never forgot that enchanting song they first danced to, “Ballroom In The Sky.”
The song was performed by Valerie And The Blue Skies.
They weren’t very big but had a cult following..
Geoff could see how similar Violet and Valerie were.
They were mirror images of each other.
Even in speech and humour.
Valerie was based in a remote enigmatic area.
She used to refer to songs as role plays.
“You feel as though you are a member of the audience.” Valerie remarked.
Violet did admit to meeting Valerie casually and for autograph purposes but not otherwise or so it seemed.
It was amazing how “ Ballroom In The Sky” with its airy ascending rock chords and jaunty jazz lines could draw Violet, Valerie and Geoff into a peculiar triangle.
The sudden moody breaks, abrupt silences built a momentary cocoon.
Valerie’s top sideman....well, he was known as Silent Sam.
He had a track record of sorts.
Sam’s blue attire was appropriate.
He wore a large trilby hat tipped over his forehead sheltering his pointed face and pencil slim physique.
He, Sam, was short-sighted when it suited and eccentric.
Practical jokes were his forte and the impish grin.
“Yep ..Yup....or Sure.“
These were the only asides from this oddball sidemen for the most part.
He was accident prone.
Valerie had to indicate where things were. Theirs was a sign language of its own complete with slanted facial squirms.
One wondered if there was a deeper relationship between them.
Those Blue Skies airs were fillers without Sam.
Every time “Ballroom In The Sky” was played Valerie, Violet and Geoff were sharing unwittingly a secret.
The startled looks were part of this outlandish ritual.
Wild recalled now.
“Valerie could croon in a real hypnotic fashion. Everyone in the dancehall was enthralled. People would sway like ice skaters one moment, waltz in a swan-like manner the next and just as often rave in the isles like end of term teenagers.”
Geoff whispers in the graveyard.
“JUST A PASSING DREAM...........STILL SO VIVID.......DANCING IN HEAVEN...... KISSES ALL AROUND....MAGIC HAND........A LITTLE BIT BLIND, and of course “BALLROOM IN THE SKY.”
Geoff and Violet would swing religiously to those fantasy songs every Sunday as their courtship blossomed.
“Ballroom In The Sky “ was always the highpoint.
This constellation of events occurred in a scenic nineteen seventies spot.
Despite its haunting vistas and backdrop of panoramic hills it resembled a ghost town. Openings were few against an infinite spiral of closing factories, bookstores with half-empty shelves and shopkeepers peering out of doors.
Ten years earlier it was a beacon. “I shudder to think…...A jigsaw puzzle.”
Geoff surveying the cemetery.
Such memories could have been taken directly from some movie script. “Yes .. it was a hub that Skyline. Like homeless drifters, the folk who attended.”
Geoff again.
They were fugitives.
Escapees from that heavy-handed dole queue void.
Suddenly something happened.
“What the heavens is? Snap….a branch.” Momentary jitters engulfing Wild.
He shook in concert with the overarching colonnade of brown edge green leaf trees.
An eerie rustling dewdrop tiptoe now caressing Geoff’s ears.
”Up there somewhere Velvet Heart?
Dancing in the heavens?”
Nervous laughter now relief road to that traffic jam of sentiment about to speed off.
Glued to the spot that macabre sixth sense of Violet hovering above evaporates due to an illusory late evening sun shaft.
Wild could no longer hide from Valerie and Velvet Heart’s identities.
“Oh those comic jibes and piercing glances. Some ethereal intrigues were passing through the air.”
Geoff recalls with forensic clarity.
Poor Silent Sam would do his usual u-turn into the shadow.
Two months before Geoff's and Violet’s parting, an incident occurred.
Memory is a lodger which steadfastly refuses to surrender its keys.
Valerie and the Blue Skies were in flying form as the tunes morphed into each other.
Valerie and Velvet Heart were magnets for men.
Violet caught Geoff off guard.
“Guilty conscience, there Geoff?”
Having fantasies about Valerie.
Focus on me.
As for that eternity ring remember?”
Those penetrating peepers of Violet knew how to vet a body in a flash.
“Oh no .....not at all.” Geoff with a looping
smirk.
“Just those mystical melodies working their spell.” He said.
“You came into my life like.... a new dawn.” Wild poetically.
“You honey tongue you. Geoff our song. Ballroom.” Violet mutters.
Valerie nodded towards Sam.
Her expression was a hard to decipher veil and deep code command.
“Get those fingers flying, Sam.”
In a tone almost identical to Velvet Heart.
Sam didn’t always act immediately.
“Yep.. Yup ...Sure.” Sam’s stock retort.
“Ballroom In The Sky” now strong as ever cast its bewitching spell throughout the venue.
A medley was included tonight.
“SOMEONE FOR EVERYONE” ( Sam looked at Valerie), “A LITTLE BIT BLIND” ( Sam staring vacantly at both Valerie and Violet), “MIND YOUR STEP( Sam winking at Geoff while scrunching the mouth at Violet).
Violet edged toward the stage.
A dim-lit silence ensued.
Ballroom started again. Valerie and Violet now singing this tune. An eerie vacuum filled this dancehall.
A triangular crush of people occurred near the stage with Geoff in toe.
Valerie handed Violet a letter.
Sam was now talking tersely to Valerie.
A misted over photo gallery memory blur in place.
“Pst...Pst. Your Velvet Heart is back to haunt you.“ Violet’s lofty twang.
“What in the name….I can't phantom…..fathom.” Geoff shudders.
Violet’s voice a wet whisper stretching over twigs that simultaneously tap against windows.
She pulled back an orchard pattern duvet covering Geoff.
“Fell asleep at your favourite film, The Passing Of A Velvet Heart. All those graveyard scenes shot in our small town remember?
We know Silent Sam wrote the soundtrack for the film along with Ballroom. He sings on that one.” Violet recounts.
“Incredibly you chose Velvet Heart as your courtship name for me based on the film.
The film was never a huge success but did get our area limited publicity.
Sam earned extra royalties from the soundtrack.
Valerie and Sam tying the knot next Sunday of all days.
As for that love letter you mumbled about.
It’s an invite to their secret wedding.
Very private. As Sam is.
What a time and place he chose for the invitation.
During that ethereal love song which brought us together.” Violet observes.
“Poor Sam’s a little bit blind a
on occasions or is he?
I was upstairs on the flat roof today.
Six months ago I fell off it.
You’ve never liked me being up there since.”
Violet continuing.
“Guilty secret must confess. I used to be onstage instead of Valerie.
Well, sometimes.
She was dating you pretending to be me.
We never knew each other that well but it was a dare worked out between us.“
Geoff shouted. “Hoodwinked.”
An incredulous look ripples over Wild’s pale face.
Violet’s eyes now ablaze.
“You never noticed did you? Deep down.”
The tease in Violet surfacing..
Geoff was thunderstruck.
Violet strolled towards their CD player on the mahogany table.
“Think you’ll like this one. Our song.”
Violet stated.
“May I dance with you?”
Geoff smiled. “Of course. I would be delighted.
And relieved!”
Silent Sam’s voice weaves in his own inimitable shy way a song usually sung by Valerie, his wife to be.
And sometimes Violet, or Velvet Heart.
A number that united three people in the most curious and otherworldly manner!
“Yep….Yup ….Sure.”
As Sam was in the habit of saying!
mantrabay Photograph and Prose Poem Copyright Protected
#creedatelier #blog@creedatelier
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Daily Mirror - Monday August 28, 1967 [high res image: x]
The Star Maker
By BRIAN McCONNELL and BERNARD FALK
They called him the Prince of Pop... the Napoleon of Show Business. And Brian Epstein earned his fame and his nicknames the hard way.
He once said of his struggle to the top: “It was tough. You shout and you fight and you claw and if you haven’t got faith and tenacity, you give up. I kept on.”
But Epstein, the Star Maker, was more modest about his greatest show business find - the Beatles. He repeatedly denied that their success was due to him.
Thirty-two-year-old Epstein stumbled across the Beatles when he was selling records in his family’s Liverpool store.
Ruthless
People kept asking for their records, so - in November, 1961 - he went to the Cavern Club to hear them.
A month later, he signed them up - and Epstein, the former public school boy who had been a window-dresser, salesman and soldier, was on the way to making them millionaires and becoming one himself.
Many things drove Epstein on to success. He was a formidable man whose bland smile and affable charm could hide a ruthless streak.
But mainly it was his craving for friends that gave him the talent of finding unknowns and making them famous.
For even in the limelight, surrounded by the big names of show business and the fans, Epstein was a lonely man.
And loneliness was the thing he feared most.
The four Beatles were among the few people he regarded as real friends.
He liked them, he said, because they were natural.
One cause of his shyness and loneliness was his unhappy days at boarding school.
Social
He left at 16 and decided to be “good at things I like, rather than work at things which will give me social company.”
And it was selling records in the North End Musical Stores - which gave his enterprise the name NEMS - that Epstein heard of the Beatles.
As their manager, he believed in them, and had many rejections from recording companies.
The first record was not a success, and they operated at a loss in the first year.
Then, as Epstein put it: “Well over a year’s hard work, a bit of luck, and we were in.
“I didn’t make them. I was not their boss. I was their friend.”
Besides the Beatles, the Epstein “stable” included Cilla Black, Gerry and the Pacemakers, Billy J. Kramer and other big “names.”
In 1964, Epstein moved from Liverpool to London, bought a £31,000 house in Belgravia, and ventured further into business.
He backed several successful London shows and gained a controlling interest in the Saville Theatre.
Last night, the lights went out at the theatre after the first house.
Of the Beatles, by the Beatles and for the Beatles..
By DONALD ZEC
Brian Epstein discovered the Beatles.
The phrase is short, but its significance, whether measured in millions or by the way it jolted an antiquated world right down to its hardening arteries, is a phenomenon of the century.
It must now stand as the untimely epitaph - to one of the most extraordinary, almost unparalleled careers in the history of entertainment.
Brian Epstein did not merely unleash a new, exciting sound. He harnessed its vibrant energies, lived to see it orchestrate the young revolution now pulling the rug out from under the entire world.
Those of us who recoiled with faint derision at John, Paul, George and Ringo’s thundering and unscissored debut were soon to have our old-fashioned smiles knocked sideways.
To Epstein the swinging sound first heard in that dark, dank cave in Liverpool was something raw, fresh, unfathomable. But Epstein was no cigar-smoking business manager in for the fast percentage and out again when the heat cooled off.
He was of the Beatles, by the Beatles, for the Beatles.
He loved their restless music, poured their lagers and lime, lived with them, jazzed around with them, erected the tough yet silken curtain between them and those jealous for a piece of the action.
Embraced
He was part of the “scene.” The moods, the fancies and the fantasies, the transcendental “experiences,” the new cults and cultures that embraced the Beatles, embraced Epstein, too.
He loved them. I know that because he told me so - with the quiet candour that won friends and made enemies.
And they loved him. Not because he helped to make them millionaires (although there were no audible complaints on that score).
They rooted for him because he was ahead of them in the minefields, pointing a way, offering a hand.
John Lennon has said: “He’s the only one we take things from. He’s one above us. We couldn't be run by anybody but him - not anybody.”
The question, too early to be asked but soon to be answered is this: Can the Beatles, the most lucrative quartet in pop entertainment - survive without Epstein?
A dim, but mercenary entrepreneur of the old school might have been glad to squeeze this talented foursome dry, chew them up and spit them out on to the open market. But Epstein, like the Beatles music, was out of a different and more substantial mould.
Tough to deal with, determined, shrewd, coolly suspicious - he was all that to be sure. But anyone who goes out on safari into a jungle must know how to deal with the man eaters and the rest of the devious carnivores.
Handsome
The big Hollywood magnates who welcomed this slim, handsome, deceptively genial gent into their close-carpeted offices were convinced they could con the cuff-links off his Turnbull and Asser shirts.
In about thirty seconds flat he had them reaching for their ulcer pills, meekly accepting his terms, lodged uncomfortably in their gullets.
It was hard enough to take from any business manager. Coming from this polite, diffident 32-year-old made grit in the eye a more acceptable hazard.
My last meeting with him was over lunch at his period house in Belgravia. Cilla Black was there. She, too, was an Epstein discovery. She, too, like the Beatles, was raised from street level to a penthouse suite.
The intuitive skill of Brian Epstein resided in his sure knowledge of what millions of young people wanted in music - what excited him.
Agents told him that Cilla Black, nasal of voice, homely of face, wouldn’t earn a penny at the box office. Epstein advised them to queue for the next performance. She now tops the bill, is starring in a film.
She too, will feel that a mighty comforting arm slipped from her shoulder last night....
Epstein entertained me in a house which, like its owner, was stylish and defiantly extravagant - a luxurious mixture of mosaics and old masters. An 8ft. blow-up of the handsome face of El Cordobes, the bullfighter, adorned the bathroom wall.
The famous Spaniard was his friend. So too, was Nureyev the ballet dancer.
Vanity
But unlike those blazing extroverts Epstein was a mild egocentric masquerading as an enigma. He permitted himself the odd, amusing touch of vanity - like having as his telegraphic address simply “Nemperor” - the “nem” for his vast company NEMS Enterprises. The rest you will grasp for yourselves.
His was no rags-to-riches tale. He came from an Orthodox Jewish middle-class family; went to RADA; ran a record shop, discovered the Beatles, turned the pop world on its slightly-deafened ear, taking it all inscrutably over a cup of China tea.
In the last few months Epstein, like one or two of the Beatles, entered the bizarre world of experiments in “mind perception.” He has declared in interviews his experiments with marijuana and LSD. And like others who have “turned on” he strenuously defended it.
Did he know that LSD could have extremely damaging and sometimes fatal effects, Mike Hennessey of the Melody Maker asked him recently.
Epstein replied: “I did have some apprehension, but I took that risk. I think LSD helped me to know myself better and I think it helped me to become less bad tempered.”
Whatever the effects of the drug, there can be no doubt that Epstein had withdrawn from the more raucous and spectacular elements of show business.
He lived almost like a recluse, more the mystic, less the manager.
The mysticism has acquired a harsh and tragic reality.
To manage this sometimes difficult, sometimes beguiling, often downright cussed group required a kind of gentleness, kindness and goodwill.
Brian Epstein had those qualities and considerable skill besides.
Not only the Beatles mourned and measured their loss last night.
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Know You More
AO3 Version
Relationship: Haurchefant/Reader (Miqo’te!WOL)
Rating: General Audiences
Summary: Haurchefant is almost sure that you feel the same for him as he does for you, but he's not certain. To check some suspicions, he looks into the fact that, whenever you smile at him, he notices that your tail seems to fluff up--do you do this when you talk to others?
He has to find out, if only to know that his feelings are mutual.
When Haurchefant first has suspicions about the truest feelings that you hold for him, they’re nothing more than that: simple suspicions.
He had no clear nor tangible reason to think the relationship as anything more than cordial allies. Despite this very respectable thought process, the Elezen also had quite the extravagant imagination and, honestly, he could never find himself at odds with the idea of you being ever so fond of him–Haurchefant in fact welcomed the idea with open arms and a less-than-appropriate mind that wandered quite often while going through paperwork, if he’s being quite honest.
Regardless, he had a suspicion that the feelings may very well be mirrored, if not entirely mutual. He knew almost for a fact that behind those beautiful eyes and that smile which graced each and every stoic nod of assurance you gave him, there was but a smoldering desire which could very well rival Haurchefant’s very own.
His reason for thinking so?
Your tail.
Well, pray tell not the fact that you have a tail, since that would be absurd. It’s what you do with your tail when you look at him, smile that glorious grin upon Haurchefant like but a beam of warm sunshine briefly offering Camp Dragonhead a mercy from the oh-so-common cold, cloudy days.
It puffs up. Specifically speaking, it puffs up when you speak to him, often in the same breath as when you flick your eyes to the ground and smile that very smile you do so often without realization in his presence. It appears so soft to the touch on any normal day, but in those brief moments it looks but as soft as silk and as fluffy as a newborn karakul that it almost pains Haurchefant that he cannot simply reach out and stroke down the length of such a wondrous part of you.
Though the man didn’t completely understand the physiology of the Miqo’te tails, he certainly knew enough about people in general context to understand when something questionable is afoot–and he knew that there was something behind that little tell of yours.
As a man of observation, Haurchefant began to take note of things whenever you spared a moment to visit Camp Dragonhead. He paid close mind to when you interacted with others, if only to see if such a difference came to perception or if it was all but a silly man’s affections run amok in his own mind.
Though he certainly did well not to outright follow you from one conversation to another, Haurchefant did find it easy to excuse himself about the camp as was needed, especially since his close alliance with you was no secret–the two of you had helped one another plenty in the past, after all. A run-in here, a convenient meeting there, it didn’t take much for the Elezen to pull the strings how he needed to get but a cursory glance at your interactions with others.
You smiled often and spoke with liveliness to all who cared to listen to you, though that in itself was obvious to anyone who but heard rumor about you as a person let alone esteemed warrior of light. Haurchefant was not interested in such things when he knew they were not the evidence he sought near-desperately.
There were moments where your tail twitched or ears flicked, though what few times he noticed was largely when he had reason to believe you were getting agitated–he didn’t let those moments linger for very long of course. Let it always be known that Haurchefant would not tolerate any sort of discrimination to anyone who placed foot within Camp Dragonhead, be they Elezen, Miqo’te or otherwise; he made quick work of what few young and very ignorant initiates decided to test the tolerance held in Haurchefant’s warm heart.
For many times he watched you as you visited, sometimes with business in the snowy lands and other times to visit him personally (of which Haurchefant was always lost in his head like a lovesick schoolboy). Despite all the time he had to figure things out, he just couldn’t quite note a moment that your tail did quite the same thing as he was curious about–not a single time did it puff or fluff up in quite the same way, though there were a multitude of other things it did in otherwise staunch conversation.
In fact, Haurchefant came to realize there was a lot of meaning in but the simple movements of a tail or the softest flick of the ears when it came to the Miqo’te. So much did he realize was lost to him when talking to you, so many queues and nonverbal messages he had missed without realizing it.
The way you flick your tail when you’re shy, the way you pull back your ears when your nervous. Did you ever realize that, when you’re trying to answer a particularly hard conundrum, you wrap your tail around your own leg?
Haurchefant found it endearing. Just one more thing to add to the ever-growing list, something he could speak about until his very breath ran cold and his mind had long since moved on into senility.
But no matter the breadth of knowledge and appreciation gained, the several days of observation offered little insight towards answering the very question which begun the man’s internal questing. With several visits and seemingly no closer to the end, it became clear that the only way the Camp Dragonhead lord may gain such a perilous answer would be to do what he considered as last resort:
He could ask you directly.
It would be a risky choice, as Haurchefant didn’t want his personal quest to be revealed, lest he lose all the carefully collected data–as well as put himself in a horrible state of embarrassment should he be wrong in his assumption.
The very last thing he wanted was to tarnish the friendship he had forged with you.
He waited an extra couple days, allowed himself to build up a convincing reason to ask such an odd question if only so your suspicion wouldn’t be aroused. Though Haurchefant considered himself somewhat capable of smoothing over a lie, he doubted his ability to convince you that he had a distant Miqo’te relative, whether by blood or adoption. He had scarce contacts in the Black Shroud or La Noscea, but he could pull upon some familiar names tied to Ul’dah if explanation was needed…
Too complicated.
When the day finally came for him to ask, he didn’t honestly have much of a plan in motion. It certainly didn’t help that your next visit after his decision came quicker than he thought, leaving Haurchefant to scurry for words and actions mere moments before they happened in much akin to the same lovesick schoolboy he often considered himself to be around you.
He was lucky there was naught amiss, leaving you able to spend time with him privately and talking of simple things over a drink together.
“I hope you don’t find it a bother,” Haurchefant tried to keep his words casual, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. “But I had a question for you I’ve been hoping to ask. It deals with matters you may be best suited to answer, dealing with something of a Miqo’te habit I’m unlearned about.”
You blink, curiosity filling your gaze and smile as it pulls at the corners of your lips.
“I’m of the understanding that Miqo’te are rare in these parts; far too cold to be comfortable and far too cloudy for worship of any sort.”
“Oh no,” the man said, the lie already starting to drip gently from his lips. “It’s not for my personal interest.”
“Oh?”
“You see I have a dear friend of mine who has become quite taken with someone-”
You feel one of your brows perk.
“-a Miqo’te. The details are certainly of no import in the matter, but he has found himself besieged with a question he cannot answer. Though I’ve implored him to but ask himself, he seems resigned to never know the answer.”
Haurchefant grew confident with every word, feeling the story twist together in a neat little plait in which couldn’t be easily unraveled. Certainly he would be able to ask the question without worry of suspicion, especially since you seemed so politely quiet in wait for it yourself.
“You see, he’s noticed that whenever they’re together, his love’s tail seems to-” Haurchefant feigns in the search for the right word, hoping the lapse of memory would only give credence to the story. “Ah, what did he say? Oh! Puff, that’s right–he says his love’s tail puffs right up, like a blowfish of somesort if only such a creature was covered in fur instead of spines.”
He mulls over the words for a few moments extra before letting his eyes fall to you, watching your expression with care as he takes a sip from the glass in his hand.
It doesn’t fall from pensive thought, though he does take a prideful note of how your ears twitch, flicking as if like a bird’s wings aiding it to take flight, though for you it is simply to launch yourself into a series of thoughts.
Was that weird? Perhaps that one was a bit weird, even for him.
“Well, there could be a lot of reasons, but is there any specific time that it happens besides being together?”
“Well, he says it’s usually when he catches a smile or a giggle from his partner.”
You pondered on it for a few moments, tapping a finger lightly at your chin.
“Sounds like a tell to me,” you laughed after a moment, shrugging your shoulders casually. “Nothing beguiling about that, no more than you are Haurchefant, perchance did you know that you tend to bite at your lower lip when your nervous?”
The man blinked, suddenly realizing that he indeed had some of his lower lip between his teeth. He swiftly shifted his weight in the chair and tried to make the act look aloof, just making himself more comfortable in the moment is all.
“D-do go on, dear friend. I hope that whatever may be unsaid between he and his love, my friend has nothing to worry for?”
“Of course not!”
The exclamation was made with no shortage of amusement. You couldn’t hold in the laugh for more than a moment before your hands fly up to your lips and hide what little dignity you can from escaping in the resulting uproarious noise of humor.
Haurchefant merely looked at you, looking something between worried and confused.
“Some Miqo’te do that when they’re happy,” you finally relent, wanting not to torture the poor man. “Your friend has absolutely nothing to worry about, though I’d insist he’d as his partner himself for their specific thoughts on the matter. Likely it’s just how his partner tells him that they love him dearly.”
Haurchefant all but feels his heart stop in the moment, mind trying desperately to put the words together in the way his mind needs, answer yet before him to the question he so very much wanted to solve. He doesn’t have much of a chance to continue the conversation however as you suddenly feel a ring in your ear–your linkpearl, alerting you of a recall back to the Waking Sands for something that seems at least mildly urgent.
You relay this information quickly enough to the Elezen and begin to make your leave, thanking him generously for his time and drink.
“It is I who should be thanking you,” Haurchefant says, gesturing towards you with a mild flourish, as if but words alone can’t accurately describe the meaning. “There are few who would come to these cold, deary mountains to visit even a close friend; your company is always welcomed here with a warm fire and attentive company.”
His words make you smile, a familiar send-off that you’ve grown so accustomed to that it almost feels like leaving Camp Dragon head is akin to leaving home. You begin to make your leave from the room but stop just a few steps short of the door, turning your head around to catch Haurchefant’s gaze with your own.
“Oh, one more thing,” you say, smile tugging at your lips and an unmistakable fluff to your tail. “You could have simply asked me outright about my little tell. I am very much fond of you in kind, dearest Haurchefant, and I’d love to know you more.”
And only then do you leave the room post-haste, catching one last sight of the man with a shock to his wide eyes, a flush upon his cheeks and his lower lip between his teeth in sudden realization that his ruse had been known from the very beginning.
#ffxiv#final fantasy xiv#haurchefant#haurchefant x wol#readerinsert#haurchefant readerinsert#sfw#sfw readerinsert#miqote!wol#writing#readershot#miqote!reader#sfw readershot
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I've mentioned a few times by now that my interpretation of Yukari Yakumo is that she's secretly still a human being, so I guess I could probably stand to actually explain it.
So, this is what the Perfect Memento says about Yukari. The actual canonicity of PMiSS is in flux, I think, it was written in a much earlier era of Touhou when ZUN seems to have had a somewhat different vision of things and not all of it has remained consistent even accounting for that it's deliberately inaccurate, but we'll ignore that for now. Making strong assertions about something as clay-like as canon in Touhou is a losing game, in any case.
Akyuu's claims seem to check out. We can, actually, independently verify that Yukari does not collect fear from Gensokyo - most characters seem to be only vaguely aware of her at best (and the more they know her, generally, the less they respect her) and in Forbidden Scrollery we see that the human villagers are so unaware of her that showing up to a ghost story circle and telling a story about very specific identifying features like her gaps only provokes confusion.
On the other hand we haven't been shown any of her activities in the outside world. We cannot verify that she collects fear there. More importantly, Akyuu can't verify that.
A youkai that never attacks humans is by definition not a youkai. The youkai Yukari does not attack humans in Gensokyo. Therefore Yukari is attacking humans somewhere else.
That's the logic here. Akyuu is faced with two facts that don't fit together, so she invents something that resolves them. But she doesn't know anything. This may not be true, and if it is, it's of no relation to Akyuu's claims.
We could formulate this problem differently, if we were inclined to.
A youkai that never attacks humans is by definition not a youkai. Yukari, who claims to be a youkai, does not attack humans. Therefore Yukari is not a youkai.
That she's human specifically is a particular leap of mine because I like the idea. I like what it says about Yukari as a character and about her particular situation. And we know from Sakuya that humans can be immortal without ceasing to be human. But looked at with as close to dispassion as I can manage, the evidence is probably weighted more in the direction of her being the Hakurei God. Depending on how you interpret certain dialogue in Missing Power, she comes within an inch of outright saying it, even.
There's also that Yukari and Reimu have long been shown to have different expressions of the same essential powers over borders, boundaries, and other distinctions. This would tend to support the idea that Yukari is the Hakurei God, but I like to fit it into the "Yukari is human" hypothesis by just saying that she's the shrine maiden of the Outside World's Hakurei Shrine. After all, we know it exists, and based on what Rinnosuke saw of it - assuming Yukari's telling him the straightforward truth about what he saw - clearly someone's taking care of it.
Regardless, by presenting one interpretation, Perfect Memento also provides the evidence and uncertainties that make up that interpetation. In doing so, it opens up entirely contradictory interpretations. The wonderful thing about the arts is that the same material can be taken so many different directions. We are obliged to admit that [1 + 1 = 2], but nothing compels us to submit to [youkai ^ !fear -> elsewhere] when [youkai ^ !fear] could mean any number of other things.
#touhou#touhou project#yukari yakumo#yakumo yukari#maribel hearn#and speaking of reimu and yukari sharing powers... nemuno also has those powers#which I have headcanons about but I'd rather express those in art and narrative than in rambling so#in general I think I'm going to try expressing my headcanons in that way more often#a queue in the dark beguiles me#headcanon
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manufactured.
--; summary: The XK-100 model was designed to be many things: charming yet brutal, elusive yet blunt, gentle yet commandeering. What she wasn't designed to be was deviant. But, being so advanced can come with a cost.
You decide what that cost is.
> part two
[determinant factors are in italics]
[warnings that apply to this chapter are in bold]
--; pairings: connor x xk-100, captain allen x xk-100
--; word count: 2.1k
--; themes: slow burn romance, angst, violence, platonic fluff, eventual smut
--; warnings: depictions of violence, death, suicide
--; note: hola mis amigos! this is the first piece of writing that i’m actually putting up here so go easy on me please and thank you! pardon any horrendous mistakes and/or terrible explanation of plot points :(
in places this story will deviate (haha deviate) from canon. this allows me to weave my lovely little xk-100 model into scenarios that can help shape her personality for future installments. also, it gives me a chance to dabble with her interacting with minor characters that don’t get enough love!
if all goes well, i’d like to make this into a kind of ‘choose your own story’ type read bc i love me a good challenge and i want to give it the true d:bh feel. it’ll take a while to fan the options out but i’m a fast worker when inspired ;)
anywho, feel free to shoot me a message to ask me questions about this or give me suggestions! i’m also open to requests for now so hit me with your best shot, kiddos.
without further ado, enjoy!
[apolgies if this looks shit on mobile/anything really. i'll clean it up later :)]
—————
The first thing she felt was something clicking to the back of her head. Streams of code filled black vision: a start-up process. Lines upon lines of binary were read at a speed that was inhuman, registering her programming and purpose. Though a crucial process, the small camera watching her saw nothing of what was going on behind those white eyelids-- not even a twitch to signal that she was functional.
Then, narrow eyes flickered open, much like a light bulb turning on after years of no use. Pale irises were revealed to the room, intricate patterns of ice and frost weaved around her pupil. They were shadowed by a line of dark lashes, removing the possibility of deducing what she was thinking by way of looking into her eyes. Yet the contrast between the light and dark made her hold an aura of allure. Even he, someone who had prepared for her to look like this, was momentarily hypnotised. Nevertheless, a pang of discomfort was felt when his gaze finally fell to her static form. She appeared detached from the world -- cold. She would be perfect for her job.
From his seat, her overseer leant down to a microphone. “Can you hear me?” A male voice reached her sensors and the LED on the side of her head sprang to life, glowing a calming blue. Tentative eyes watched her through the camera. His heart rate increased when her LED began circling-- processing. This was make or break. They'd tried to make models like her far too many times before but failed; she hadn't looked intimidating enough, she couldn't make sense of her own complexity, her thirium pump hadn't been wholly compatible. God, he'd seen so many of her previous attempts shutdown before they were even able to speak.
Anxiety. Worry. Tension. “Yes. I can hear you.” All those emotions dissolved-- cascaded from his conscience like the most beautiful waterfall he could ever witness-- and he leant back in his chair, instead filled with relief. A sigh that could've praised God itself left him before he moved to look at the live feed of her again. She was completely unmoving-- no blinking, no twitching of her eyes, no breathing. Instead, she was waiting.
“What's your serial number and model name?” The worry rose in him again as his sight glanced to the tablet before him, filled to the brim with information on her. All his team's plans for her, her I.D. and registration codes, who she was going to be given to, her abilities, her materials-- all of it-- stored on one tablet. Everything had to be checked. She had to confirm that all of her components were functional. If she said one wrong thing, she would be deconstructed and analysed.
The android's voice was smooth and unwavering-- unaware of the pressure placed upon her. Perhaps one could describe it as scheming. Hearing it laid a blanket of unsettling calm across those around yet it was beguiling-- mysterious. “#572 236 091 – 31. My model name is XK-100.” Her expression still showed nothing. Good.
The robotic arms whirred around her and created gentle streams of wind as they welded white plastic parts together, ensuring that her body was sturdy; she needed to be as durable as possible. Two of them spun on their pivots to receive an arm-- already constructed and able to move when tugged in a certain direction and therefore, hopefully, functional. Rather than screwing it into place, it clicked as though it was a dislocated bone being fixed. When the arms let go of it, it hung at her side-- lifeless.
He wasn't lifeless, however. Oh, quite the contrary. Having been working on this project for near to seven years now, he felt like a little clap and chuckle wouldn't be deemed all too unprofessional. They'd been planning an android like this for almost a decade: an android who was capable of taking down an entire riot single-handedly if the need arose. Her team had programmed tiny aspects of her day in, day out. Many sleepless nights were spent animating her custom expressions, blueprinting the structure and materials of her frame, weaving code into her artificial mind. By admittance of the former CEO of CyberLife himself, she was perhaps the most intelligent android they had yet made-- and that was Kamski's words from years before. Now, if she didn't possess that whirling LED on her temple and her posture wasn't so stiff, people could peg her as more life-like than some humans.
He spoke again. She picked up on the thrilled waver to his voice and committed it to her short-term memory stores. “Move your head.” As asked, her head craned from one side to another-- eyes yet to follow the direction of movement naturally. Then, she stopped rather suddenly back at the centre. The camera swerved to the front of her and lifted itself to her eye level. “Now, move your eyes.” Her eyelids jolted into motion and she blinked erratically-- even her brows furrowed. He felt as though he was intently watching her trying to remove something from the surface of her eyeball; it was uncomfortable, yes, but inevitably natural. Then, her sight began to sweep across the sterile room, recognising the area as Manufacturing Room 2462-B in the CyberLife Tower. Blinking was rhythmic yet not too unnatural. She was beginning to appear more human. Uncomfortably so.
The team working on her understood that she would be some of CyberLife's best work but, from what he could gather, they hadn't expected her to look so... alive. At least, he didn't.
“Good. Now, tell me your introductory text.”
“Hello. I am a first generation XK-100 android. I am designed to assist Special Weapons and Tactics units in high-risk cases. Alongside being much more durable than humans, I am able to process and successfully predict reasonable outcomes for scenarios-- if given enough verbal or physical queues. I am familiar with S.W.A.T training programs and have an accuracy rating of 96% when in optimal conditions.”
Cases of deviancy had been on the rise and more and more police cases were being taken over by S.W.A.T units. Their only downfall was that they were a mainly human organisation, thus making it more and more difficult for them to track ever developing deviant androids. With her on missions, their success rates would soar-- or so the team who had made her hoped.
“My battery allows me to work autonomously for 212 years and I do not require food or water to survive. Due to the nature of my programming, I am required to make frequent reports to my higher-ups on the condition of my software and, every 2 years, I must undergo a renewal of my permit to bypass the 'American Androids Act, subsection 544-7'-- which allows me to carry weapons as long as I have human supervision.” Her speech paused for a moment and her overseer watched with baited breath. Had her vocals malfunctioned? They couldn't have. She wasn't supposed to stop speaking. Fuck, fuck, fuck! They'd almost had--
“Would you like to name me?” An exhale. Thank the Lord. Perhaps she was already developing mannerisms? She was designed to integrate into a team-- to be adaptable-- and humans didn't take well to stiff androids. It would help her fit in; they'd aspired for her to be like this yet she seemed to be learning quickly-- faster than they'd suspected.
Her other arm clicked itself into place before he spoke and pale skin began to bleed across her plastic body, coating her in practically human layers of pores and tones. Black hair sprouted from her scalp and flopped down into its default style: short, gently waved, and middle-parted-- convenient for her designated career yet not unfamiliar or strange to humans. She began to exude a strange type of stern attractiveness-- every colour that she possessed merging together to create an amalgamation of, what he could only say was, foreign beauty.
“Yes. Your name will be set to...” His eyes flickered down to the tablet before him, “Kassandra.”
Unnervingly, her icy eyes stared straight into the camera. It was as though she was maintaining eye contact with him. Then, her lips twitched somewhat before forming an ever-so-slightly lopsided smile. The smile was charming but seeing it painted across the features of a half-built android was concerning to him. It didn't put him at ease. Rather, his expression tightened. But he couldn't look away from her, seemingly caught in the frost that built in her irises.
“My name is Kassandra. I am pleased to meet you.”
He shivered. All his previous excitement appeared to have dissipated and nothing came through the speakers installed in the ceiling for a few moments. The camera was stationary, positioned before her. He almost felt a degree of sympathy for her; she-- Kassandra-- looked, sounded so... real. Out on the field, she would develop her own habits, her own ticks, her own sense of humour-- just like a human. Yet, her only goal was to detain people-- to kill, on occasion-- and he knew that would never change, no matter how alive she appeared. They programmed her to be like this. He programmed her to be like--
One of her legs were put into place, the socket being filled with an echoing 'clunk!' noise. Said sound made the overseer cough and return to his own mission, watching skin spread over her newly installed limb. She was simply an android. The morality of it all didn't need to come into the equation. “Can you move your arms?”
As Kassandra mindlessly followed his requests, new limbs being added and her programming being tested, he couldn't help notice her becoming smarter even here. Her gaze conveyed emotion-- enquiry, determination, amusement. She had begun to tap her fingers together while waiting for her next instructions. The LED on the side of her head would circle and flicker to yellow more often-- as though she took things into more consideration than the average android.
Finally, she stepped off of the podium. Bare feet padded across the sterile floor of the manufacturing room and paused to allow their owner to briefly scan the room. Now, she had full access to her files, his files, CyberLife's files-- everything. Her LED circled yellow once then returned to blue. She looked back to the camera. “What should I do now, Stephen?”
Stephen-- his name. God, she was analysing him and he wasn't even there. Kassandra likely knew where he was in the building, his age, his annual salary, the millions of possible things that he could do within the next few seconds.
Possibility #762: he turned his microphone back on and cleared his throat to hide his rising stress level. “The conveyor belt to your right will transport you to a specially designed loading bay. A small team of S.W.A.T members will pick you up and take you to your base of operation. You should be working under an... 'Allen'-- 'Captain Allen', so report to him as soon as you arrive.” There was a pause. The half-blue half-yellow LED on her temple was accompanied by a mildly confused expression. “Good luck out there, Kass. I'm glad you're finally functional.”
“I, too, am glad that I am able to move, unlike my predecessors.” Kassandra gave the smallest nod to the camera before leading herself to the conveyor belt. Behind the lenses of the camera, Stephen laughed-- the kind of tired laugh that came through your nose. For him, it was kind of like watching his really unsettling child go off to university, despite the fact that she'd only been operative for two hours at most. Maybe it was because he was one of the few constants in the team as they planned her out. Perhaps she'd already enraptured him with her strange, otherworldly charm. Either way, a sense of bittersweetness resided in his heart as he watched her pick her way into the outside world.
Kassandra took a mindless step onto the belt and it began to whir. “Goodbye, Stephen.” Click, click, click. Slowly, it lurched into motion, reeling her away from the room.
SEARCHING . . . . . .
'Appropriate ways to say goodbye'
LOADING RESULTS . . . . . .
i. “I hope to see you again soon.”
ii. “Have a nice day.”
iii. “Say 'Hi' to your kids for me!”
iiii. “I'll miss you.”
Then, she disappeared from sight-- shipped off like trained-to-kill merchandise to that... Captain Allen guy. Stephen continued to stare at the camera for a small while, absently bringing his flask of coffee up to his lips and taking a long sip.
His lips pursed.
“I'll miss you too, Kass.”
#detroit become human#dbh#detroit: bh#dbh x oc#dbh connor x oc#connor x oc#dbh captain allen x oc#captain allen x oc#dbh fanfic#dbh writing#writing#rk800 x oc#dbh imagine#xk-100#fanfic#dbh connor x reader#dbh captain allen x reader#captain allen x reader#connor x reader
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The Sun, Mad Envious, Just Wants the Moon
By Patricia Smith
out of the way. It knows that I tend to cling
to potential in the dark, that I am myself only
as I am beguiled by the moon’s lunatic luster,
when the streets are so bare they grow voices.
The sun has lost patience with my craving
for the night’s mass-produced romance, that
dog-eared story where every angle is exquisite,
and ghostly suitors, their sleek smells exploding,
queue up to ravish my waning. Bursting with
bluster, the sun backslaps the moon to reveal
me, splintered, kissing the boulevard face first,
clutching change for a jukebox that long ago
lost its hunger for quarters. It wounds the sun
to know how utterly I have slipped its gilded
clutch to become its most mapless lost cause.
Her eye bulging, she besieges me with bright.
So I remind her that everything dies. All the
brilliant bitch can do for me then is spit light
on the path while I search for a place to sleep
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Fallen Angel! Chapter 5
Poe Dameron x Reader (gender neutral)
Read here or on AO3
Part 4: A Brief Indulgence
Series Summary: A Jedi planet with a cursed history. The hot shot rebel pilot with an attraction to danger. His strange arrival certainly alters your life forever.
Chapter Summary: You are tasked with carrying the broken Poe Dameron to the hot spring basin on your own <3
A/N: I hope you enjoy! As much as I would like to as an 18+ part of this story, I have no idea how to write sex scenes unless someone would like to collaborate. Let me know what you think or what suggestions you may have! I am also taking requests and questions about works!
*___*___*
With the pack securely tied to your back, the next problem presented itself at the front of your queue.
“Please tell me you have some kind of soap in that bag of yours.” Poe said, his voice slightly weaker with exhaustion.
“Mhm.” You hummed softly.
Now there was the problem of bringing Poe Dameron with you, the other problem was more concerning but less strenuous on the body. With the bag comfortably on, you faced Poe, trying to maintain a passive face.
“Alright, how well can you stand?”
He shrugged sitting up from your bed, keeping balance primarily on his one good leg while the other just barely grazed the floor. He swayed a moment before catching himself with a hand on the wall; you had the urge to move forward and catch him, but were too nervous to touch him.
“Kark, I can hardly put any pressure on it!” Poe ran a hand through his dark curls in frustration.
After taking a deep breath, you shoved all embarrassment aside and moved your pack to your front. Then turning, you knelt, facing away from Poe Dameron.
“Uh, whatcha doing there, sweetheart?”
You could only weakly smirk at the confusion in his voice. “Well, you can't walk, right? So I'll just carry you there.”
“Can't we just take a speeder or something?”
“Hm, I wish, but no speeder can make it through the woods very far. It's way too dense, even an ace would crash at some point.”
It was unfortunately true. The Great Woods were aptly named, being home to trees of various sizes, some being as tall as the grand buildings on Coruscant according to Claude. Those plants were so greatly packed together, one could only travel through it by foot comfortably and somewhat safely. To even hike through the landscape was dangerous as the wildlife tended to be less than amicable. But if one tended to make enough noise while walking, most wild creatures would steer clear of any wanderers.
He was heavier than he looked all battered, but you were able to comfortably keep his weight on your back as you stood to leave out the front door. It was verifiably awkward as neither of you said anything as you trudged forward, leaving the population of the town and onto the thin woodland trail. The man's breathing grew slow for a period of time, how he was able to sleep in such a state was beyond you. So focused on keeping Poe steady and spotting the trail markers, you almost missed the small sound of many light feet against the ground.
“There they are!”
“Hey are you headin' to the basin?”
“I wanna come!”
Whipping around, it came as a relief to see a small herd of children all looking at you with wide eyes.
“Quiet!” You insisted. “Yes, I'm going to the basin, do your parents know you're out here?”
You could feel Poe's chest rise and fall, somehow still asleep despite the rowdy youngsters. The young ones begged and vied for your guidance through the woods. Unable to resist their adorable please, you
relented and let them walk alongside you so none were to far behind or too far ahead. Occasionally you would let out a clear whistle to indicate your presence as one of the young children ran a small bell all mindful residents brought when venturing into the woods.
“Is this the invader?”
Scrunching your face in order to keep from smiling, you glanced to the side to see one of the children had become fascinated with the rebel pilot.
“He's not an invader, really, Juanjo. Just a fancy flyer who's stranded now.” You sighed. “Poor man has just had terrible luck.”
“And it looks like he busted his leg too!” The child observed. “Humans break so easy...”
Raising an eyebrow you regarded them with a hint of amusement. “I'd think anyone who crashed from the sky would have broken something.”
“Not Claude! She can do anything! I wanna be just like her when I grow up and be the Master of Arms!”
You wondered if all the other kids dreamed of something similar.
The rest of the journey was uneventful, your flock stayed close, but were still able to explore and seem some small creatures. But when the thick steam started to cloud your vision, you knew the destination had been reached. Still keeping your voice low, you told the children to remain by the edge so you could keep a proper eye on them, unfortunately, since no one else was inclined, you were the only one able to see somewhat clearly through the heavy steam. When the children finally settled down, you lowered yourself to the ground and carefully set the sleeping man down on the smooth stone. For a moment you wondered if waking him would be the best decision, but if he was still blissfully unconscious then you would have ample time to bathe unperturbed by anyone.
Slipping into nothing but your small clothes, you slipped into the wonderfully warm water, taking a few soaps and oils as well. The heat immediately relaxed your tense muscles and put your mind at ease. The water from the basin that flowed to the village needed intense handiwork so venturing out to the source was the most prudent choice. Showering in your own refresher was enough but to actually sink into the wonderful warmth of the surrounding springs was far more soothing.
“Y/N!” One of the children called.
“Is everything alright?” You asked, sensing no danger or impending stressors.
“Yes..B-”
“Alright, then. Keep together and stay close to the sides.”
As long as the young ones were safe, you could indulge in this simple pleasure. The chatter of those kids seemed to grow, but surely it was nothing more than spirited play. Brushing that aside, you proceeded to lather the natural soap over yourself, letting the water wash it away. Given its raw ingredients, it would do no harm to the ecosystem. After your hair was thoroughly cleaned you let your body float on top of the water, feeling the steam make your face quite balmy. With everything that had gone down in the past couple of days, perhaps this was not earned, but much needed.
“Hey, Y/N, can I get some of that soap you brought?”
The voice did not have the light quality found in flighty youth, but was instead of the heavy and grated variety. At once you hid yourself in the water up to your nose, seeing the shadowy form of the rebel pilot approach.
“Stop!” You cried. “Stay there!”
He stopped at once, raising his hands up. “It's just me!”
“I know!”
For a few seconds, neither of your moved and even the children had stopped talking amongst themselves. Thank the sweet Force you had been able to completely bathe before he roused from his slumber.
“Can...Can you see anything?”
“Not really.” Poe admitted. “Just the kriffing steam. I heard you splashing so I headed this way...Are there kids with us?”
“Yeah. They joined while you were asleep.”
Convinced he was completely blind due to the great basin, you relaxed slightly.
“Oh. Well, not to be annoying but can you spare some of that soap you brought?”
Right. The soap.
“Sorry, I just...never mind. Here, I'll bring it to you.”
Shaking off the flustered sensation, you swam closer until you were an arm's length from Poe Dameron, and very slowly you held out the small bar and bottle. Hopefully the hot mist was enough to keep him from seeing your arm shake. Within a second, both items were pulled from your grasp, but in the process his large hands just barely grazed your own; against your will, you shuddered quite noticeably.
“Heh, you alright there?”
Forcing a smile you drew back. “Yeah, your hands were just kind of cold.”
An extremely flimsy lie, but the pilot failed to question it.
“Sorry, I should have helped you out of the water,” you continued, “I was a bit, ah, distracted.”
“Nah! You're fine. I was close to the edge so I kinda just slid in.”
“Right, well, you just, uh, clean up and I'll make sure the kids, uh, are taken care of!”
Pushing off from the bottom of the basin, you quickly swam to the edge where you hastily dried off with a towel and dressed in some fresh clothing. Why in kriffing hell did he have to be so...so beguiling? All he had to do was merely be within the vicinity and address you for your whole body to feel flustered. Trying to calm your nerves, you sorted out your hair, a feat in and of itself. Only when you heard the sound of Poe crawling back to land did you turn about face insisting that he simply call for assistance when he had finished dressing. Meanwhile, you gathered the children together and waited just outside where the steam gave way to cool air.
“Papa said you missed the opening.”
Zipping up your coat, you chose not to look at the child next to you. “I did, Juanjo. But all will be well. The field? Nothing that can't be fixed.”
The youth nodded, pulling the hat on their head further down. “Thought so! Plus, dontcha' know how to grow things super fast?”
“Yup. So don't worry too much, okay? Just focus on your studies and spending time with your friends.”
“Is the pilot gonna be your new friend?” They asked innocently.
Jolting forward at the question, you bit down on your tongue, drawing a fair amount of blood.
“Juanjo...” You sighed, cupping a hand to your face.
At the same time, you could hear Poe's voice call from the entrance of the basin just as your mouth pulsed with a dull pain. Groaning, you pulled yourself to your feet and dragged yourself back, hoping the man would just let silence be enough for the moment. Despite your hesitance, the sight of Poe waiting for you with his bottoms put on rather clumsily, you couldn't help but snicker.
“Hmph, laugh it up, why don't ya?” He growled.
His sour response only served to egg you on somewhat. “I'm sorry!”
Your indulgence in his struggle died out and you stooped down to help him put one pant leg on properly without too much pain. Being amicable, Poe Dameron brushed off your laughter, but the stress from floating around the basin made any significant movement agonizing. Climbing onto your back was out of the question, not that you minded. When Poe had fallen asleep his body had slumped forward his breathing then hitting your neck, something that felt extremely foreign and bizarre.
“Alright,” you decided, stretching you limbs for a moment, “I'll try not to move you around too much, so try not to tense up.”
The Pilot glanced at you worriedly. “Nothing against you but I don't think that-HEY!”
Being mindful of his leg, you gently scooped him up, carrying him in your arms. To keep his balance, Poe held onto your shoulders, at first, going rather rigid, but when you showed no sign of faltering, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Kark, is everyone on this planet so kriffing strong?” He smiled.
“Mm, I'd like to think so.”
Naturally, the children flocked around as you started down the path, Juanjo and others occasionally stealing looks back at the two of you. At first, your wishes were granted and nothing but the children's chatter and the crisp wind that made your eyes water. The cold was something that you were not particularly fond of though it was familiar. Poe on the other hand, started to shiver and tremble like Ravio when he was but a newborn. In this state he seemed so vulnerable like when he had first come tumbling out of the sky.
“Who are you, Y/N?”
He drew himself closer to you in search of warmth, you would have to make him some more clothes more fitting for the environment.
“I've met a few incredible people all across the galaxy, and I dunno. You feel like one of them.”
“O-Oh.” Was all you could manage, trying to compose yourself.
Neither of you looked at the other, but Poe did not seem to mind waiting a few seconds for your answer. An answer that was currently caught in your throat.
#sw#star wars#fandom#fanfiction#fanfictions#fanfic#sw fanfic#sw fanfiction#poe dameron#poe dameron fic#reader x poe dameron#poe dameorn x reader#reader insert#star wars reader inset#reader input#reader inset
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It was my fourth visit to India’s tech hub, Bengaluru and had covered almost every touristy part of the city. However, I had a day at leisure and wanted to utilise it to the fullest. That is when a friend suggested me to visit a tiny hill fortress called Nandi Hills.
Nandi Hills resides in the Chikkaballapur district of Karnataka and is approximately 60 km from Bengaluru. Famous for its beguiling sunrise and tranquil ambience. Nandi Hills attracts tourists from far away places. Apart from this, you can also visit the Yoga Nandeeshwara Temple and Visvesvaraya museum for sightseeing.
Starting our day at a wee hour
I along with a friend, started our journey at 3:30 in the morning. We booked an OLA outstation cab to make our journey hassle-free. On our way to the Nandi Hills, we stopped by a local tea stall to energies our mind as we were awake for more than 15 hours.
The long queue!
It was a 2-hour long journey to the Nandi Hills. A long queue of cars welcomed us at 5:30 am. It was still dark, and the air smelled like diesel. After a long wait, we finally reached the parking lot at 6 am. Dodging the crowd, I rushed towards the long queue for the ticket. To save us some time, my friend and I went to two separate counter. By that time, the sun had risen. However, there was a dense fog that kept the sun hidden. I finally managed to get us the tickets. However, due to weak signals, it became difficult to locate my friend.
Tip: Carry a red scarf with you and wave it in the air whenever you feel that you are lost! Also, park your car in the lower parking. You would save time and money.
Ticket: 150 INR for two that includes parking.
Hike to the viewpoint
We started our ascend at 6:15 am. The track was made of giant steps mainly. After a 15 minute walk through the lush forest, we reached the first viewpoint. We were at the top of the hill. The surface was mostly rocky and slippery because of dew.
Nandi Hills in November
The view at Nandi Hills keeps on changing based upon the season you visit. My friend described it as a sheet of cloud floating above the smaller mountains. For me, it was mainly dense fog floating across because of the wind. Nevertheless, the view was equally incredible and mesmerising.
Visiting the Nehru Nilaya
After sitting for a while, we started walking towards the forest. The first on our path was Nehru Nilaya. An old white British style bungalow that was once the summer retreat house of Sir Mark Cubbon. It is now converted into a guest house by the Horticulture Department of India. This property doesn’t welcome visitors. However, we somehow managed to enter the gardens to admire its beauty from outside. After exploring the area around the viewpoint, we headed for breakfast.
Breakfast at KSTDC restaurant
We headed to the KSTDC restaurant that belonged to KSTDC hotel Mayura Pine Top. There was plenty of other outlets serving South Indian delicacies and quick bites like Maggie, sandwiches. However, we wanted to have a filling breakfast, and this outlet seemed quite popular amongst the tourist. We ordered Idli Sambar and Plain Dosa. We were happy with the taste and the overall service of this place.
Exploring the other parts of Nandi Hills
Post breakfast, we started to our descend. Our first stop was Tipu’s Drop, a famous viewpoint that gives a panoramic view of the city. As history says, Tipu Sultan used to punish his prisoners by pushing them down the cliff. Therefore, it got named as Tipu’s Drop.
Walking further down the hill, we came across the summer resort of Tipu Sultan. A rectangular two-storied structure made of wood, brick and mortar. I loved the rustic beauty of this place and the olds carvings and sculpture that were still intact.
Our short yet wonderful excursion came to an end at 9:30 am. This place was a perfect amalgamation of nature and history. We had a wonderful time exploring the ruins of Tipu Sultan being close to mother nature.
A Day Trip To Nandi Hills It was my fourth visit to India's tech hub, Bengaluru and had covered almost every touristy part of the city.
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Tokyo 42 and the unkillable charm of isometric gaming
New Post has been published on https://soulcrazy.org/1161-2/
Tokyo 42 and the unkillable charm of isometric gaming
Hardware video gaming generations come and pass; pics processing strategies tumble into Tokyo and out of fashion. However the allure of so-called “isometric visuals” refuses to wane. The remaining year saw the discharge of Gareth Noyce’s Lumo, a tidy little 450-room throwback puzzler starring a chubby wizard, which harkens lower back to the fixed vantage factors and tile-based totally environments of eight-bit classics like Head over Heels. This spring has already given us Torment: Tides of Numenera, InXile’s tribute to the select of Infinity Engine RPGs. And later this yr you’ll get to play Tokyo 42, an open international assassination recreation which unfolds in an airborne, plastic town of exhilaratingly jammed-collectively architectural styles, rendered in 3-D however with a zoomed-out, semi-manual digicam that calls to mind the authentic Syndicate.
Gaming
Created using two-man developer SMAC, it is a bouncy arcade affair that wears the trappings of a tactical sim lightly but convincingly, as you scuttle around the busy yet idyllic city claiming skulls, evading rival assassins or police and getting to the lowest of a conspiracy. Infiltrations oblige you to either avoid patrolling guards or become them – anybody in the games international has an artificial body, which (apart from robbing dying of its sting) approach you may spend “juice” to modify your appearance and blend in. The stealth is otherwise redolent of Steel Equipment Strong, as you duck underneath AI view cones and look ahead to alertness states to reset. Firefights have extra in commonplace with Radiant Silvergun – sluggish-transferring bullets, rockets, and grenades crowd the screen, touch you to preserve tune of your tiddly, trench-coated killer amid the carnage.
4
One of the earliest dimetric pc gaming is Head over Heels, lovingly recalled by Graeme Mason some place else on this site.
The PvP area multiplayer, in the meantime, takes intention squarely at Assassin’s Creed’s lapsed multiplayer – each participant begins off incognito in a throng of NPCs, and also you need to discover warring parties with the aid of maintaining your eyes peeled for suspicious behaviour and dispatching your trusty pet cat to sniff out nearby players. All in all, Tokyo 42 has the makings of a delightfully open-ended throwback blaster, refreshingly unencumbered through meant current stipulations like individual or weapon improvements – but what truly grips me approximately the sport is the way it reveals inside the opportunities of an isometric game standpoint.
I am the usage of “isometric design” extraordinarily loosely in this piece, of course (fair warning, photographs programmers – the following might also strike you as painfully noobish, assuming you have not clicked away already in disgust). Typically taken to intend a recreation with a digicam located diagonally above the surroundings, “isometric art” absolutely refers to the orthographic projection of cubic volumes onto a second plane to create the illusion of intensity, such that all the visible angles on every cube identical one hundred twenty levels. “Authentic” isometric is, but, hard to attain with older presentations and CPUs, as it’s difficult to draw angles which are multiples of 30 degrees while you’re working with square pixels. In reality, some of the video games often labeled “isometric” truly use “dimetric” projection, wherein most effective of the cube’s seen angles are identical, or “trimetric” projection, in which all the angles are one-of-a-kind.
Isometric or near-isometric projection, in the beginning, came into use in a manner of faking 3D at a fragment of the computational rate. But over a long time, isometric gaming has flourished right into an awesome style with its very own aesthetic and creative possibilities, while the ones computational overheads have evaporated. One advantage of isometric projection or strategies that mimic it is that artists are capable of honestly nice-device or stylize each object’s internal geometry, color and lights contrasts, capitalizing on the constant attitude – you might forget one face of the object in robust shadow, the opposite in daylight. Another effect is to impose a discreet diamond motif at the visuals, fashioned using the arrangements of cubes – a motif that can be adhered to and broken from to softly interesting impact, as inside the fabulous iOS name Monument Valley.
Tokyo 42 permits you to rotate the view around the protagonist by way of forty-five diploma increments, exposing pathways around buildings, dug-in enemies and beguiling info along with waterfalls or apartment owners smoking on balconies. However its cuboid international is also clearly designed to be appreciated in isometric view, made up as it is of striking contrasts that are much less substantive when regarded from ninety ranges on – terracotta red plazas slicing across walls daubed pistachio-green, shiny yellow stairways slicing via matt black monoliths, and lively advert forums that are discreetly organized to play up that underlying diamond pattern. You can even make out the diamond motif in the flight paths of hovercraft – each a lovingly faceted bit of cyberpunk, like a WipEout racer repurposed for civilian use.
Tokyo
The sport’s global changed into, in fact, at first designed to be a flat pixel-artwork example, but SMAC opted for polygonal 3-D and a spinning digicam after noting that players were struggling to navigate. “while we commenced, we had the sport running in natural isometric orthographic. However, it was clearly too difficult to differentiate foreground and background,” observes studio director Maciek Strychalski through e-mail. “This is important for our sport because we’ve vertical traversal and fight and gamers want so as to study intensity. This would not have been trouble if we had been a pure dual-stick shooter or flat aircraft sport.
“To get around this, we moved the digital camera waylay back, like a kilometer, and tightened the sphere Of View down. This did matter, it allowed for a tiny quantity of parallax, and it allowed us to put in force a Depth Of Field effect (that’s not possible without intensity facts – i.E. impossible when using an orthographic digital camera which has no intensity data). This offers the participant that greater statistics had to parse depth.”
So why go to all that effort to retain the arrival of a fake-3-D game, while you’re in reality operating in “Real” 3-d? “Nicely, it’s simply neat, is not it? Especially while viewed from a 45 diploma angle, the lines are so photo and consistent to the attention. I discover it lovely.”
Pokemon has had a totally vital cultural impact in many nations wherein it’s been imported. In Japan, Pokemon became famous, selling more than one million copies of Pocket Monsters in 1996. On the Tokyo sports Show in 1997, gamers should get the Mew Pokemon by way of downloading their video games. The result changed into a queue that was four km, with some humans tenting overnight earlier than the Display. Arriving in the U.S., the Purple and Blue versions sold more than 200 000 devices in weeks, then persevered to promote at a mean of 800 000 units in step with the month. Both versions had been the pleasant video games offered by way of Nintendo. At that factor in time, they had been the exceptional-promoting video games in the history of video games. Pokemon Pinball becomes the sport released on recreation Boy, and it sold even greater fast, with extra than 262 000 devices sold in 20 days. The collection that was allotted with the aid of Hasbro toys were also industrial successes. Because the tv collection grew in recognition, so did Hasbro which surpassed its main competitor, Mattel, in 2000. The games have been so famous that Hasbro was not able to collect sufficient toys to fulfill demand. Wizards of the Coast had the same problem with the card game collectibles and had offered over 50 million playing cards among January and March 1999. As of July 1999, Pokemon had generated extra than $ 5 billion.
The phenomenon also affected Ecu nations, like France, where the Crimson and Blue versions were the quality selling video games of 1999, and a million copies of every were bought as of June 2000, less than a 12 months after its launch in France. The lively collection was broadcast in numerous international locations, which include America, Australia, Japan, and Canada.
Who hasn’t been interested in this superhero that is so one of a kind from other superheroes, no longer having any unique powers in any respect save his cunning? Beginning as a DC Comics character, the darkish knight now invades not simply the tv and movie monitors however additionally video games.
Batman video games are created to permit the Caped Crusader’s fans to live the existence of a superhero, saving lives and a defensive the residents of Gotham town from the evils lurking while the streets get dark.
First, of the Batman game franchise is Batman launched in 1986 released through Ocean Software program and became designed as an isometric motion/adventure game.
isometric
Batman: The Caped Crusader, became released in 1988 by using Ocean Software program. This paid homage to Batman’s original comedian appears and with comic e-book panels as sports backgrounds.
Batman (also referred to as Batman the movie). Launched in November 1989 by using Ocean Software and turned into obviously based on the 1989 Batman film. This game spearheaded a new fashion in gaming design and become Well acquired using the gaming public. It has a higher reminiscence than the previous Batman video game and the pictures improved to present off a 3-d effect.
Batman. Released on NES in December 1989 and changed into additionally inspired by way of the 1989 Batman film. Every other Batman recreation inspired with the aid of this movie become launched via Mega Force in July 1990. In reality, there can be greater Batman games created basing on this movie. What do they discover so unique on this specific movie they preserve turning it into numerous games with similar sports plays?
Pc Engine launched a Batman online game in October 1990 which has gameplay capabilities similar to that of Percent-guy.
Batman: Go back of the Joker. Launched by using game Boy, Mega Force, and NES in December 1991 capabilities specialized boss combating At the Last Degree.
Batman Starts of evolved. Released in June 2005 and inspired via the film with the identical title features new forms of play regarding stealth, driving, and platforming.
The latest launched Batman online game is Batman: Arkham Asylum launched in August 2009 and only a few months ago in Japan. The PS3 model has specific downloadable Joker venture levels.
Two Batman video games are nevertheless pending launch. One (Batman: The Courageous and the Ambitious the Videogame) might be launched in September 2010 and the alternative (Batman: Arkham Asylum 2) in 2011.
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There used to be an idiom to the effect of "If you want to train a longbowman, start with his grandfather." As I have been told it by the historians I read, training someone to use bow and arrow effectively in a genuine combat situation was nearly impossible. Even Rome gave up on it and just hired archers from elsewhere. It turns out that in order to be an effective combat archer, you basically have to spend you entire life doing it in a way as integral to your life as eating and breathing. Places that don't have a longstanding tradition of hunting with bow and arrow don't produce combat archers.
This goes ten more times over for horseback archery. At some point or another, much of the planet had horsemanship and archery at the same time. There's a reason that only two or three of those places produced much in the way of horse archers.
So Link's ability to throw out Parthian Shots like it's nothing the second he has access to a bow and a horse (sometimes even without ever having so much as seen a bow or a horse before) is, depending on how you look at it, either very silly or extremely badass.
#legend of zelda#the legend of zelda#loz#ocarina of time#breath of the wild#majora's mask#tears of the kingdom#twilight princess#epona#zelda can do it too in twilight princess which might be even funnier. did the triforce of wisdom download a tutorial into her brain#or can she Just Do That#a queue in the dark beguiles me
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