#BUT i'm out of town && posting this from mobile so if it fucks up i'm sosrry
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Here's one of my favorite spreads-- Professor Layton and the Curious Village!! I absolutely love this game and cannot wait to play the sequels!
Writing typed below!
Rating: 8.5/10
Played: Spring 2023
Port: HD mobile (iPad)
Favorite? Y
Replayable? Y
Recommend? Y
Series: Professor Layton
Comments:
That tower is insane
Omg I love the memopad, I feel like I'm on Blues Clues
I love the mystery surrounding the tower
omg are we building a robot dog?? -> yes <3 Hot Dog
Omg crash box match puzzle!! ... WHAT THE FUCK
Layton: ew this bottle is so gross. Luke stick your hand in there
What if we were germs in a glass jar and we held hands
Layton you better have Luke on a leash or smth he better not get kidnapped oh my god I am so stressed
Luke is softie for animals T^T <3
A WORM'S DREAM
STACHENSCARFEN omfg not the ace attorney name
veil of night my beloved <3
that old man is BOOKING IT
matthew is the only real one
love the chess puzzles
gorgeous grave statue
these inn items??? T-T
sewer time
Luke: don't worry professor! No one would ever dream of stealing the Layton mobile
Layton: .... Just what do you mean by that Luke
THE FERRIS WHEEL???
Omg layton in a crown
I like how all the tower puzzles are difficult
don't like the creepy lady
is everyone a robot??
YEA A LOGIC PUZZLE
the flying spike ball is insane
He just built the sail??
The ending was SO SWEET T^T
Game Dev Notes:
Beautiful animated scenes
iconic and calming music
stunning 2d art (character and environment)
great range of puzzle difficulty
interactive background and collectibles
different rewards for finishing puzzles
recap questions to see if you were paying attention to the details
great interweaving of puzzles into the story
interesting overall mystery
ability to explore both before the end and after (& gold layton if you solve everything)
Summary:
I absolutely love this game. It's so charming and sweet with a fun story surrounding puzzles. I love the characters and I love their little quips. I love the range of puzzles and how some of them have historical context. It's such a simple concept that was executed very well. Although the story isn't ground breaking, it was still really fun and shocking. It reminds me a lot of an ACD Sherlock story as it's just another one of Layton and Luke's wacky adventures. It is also set up in the perfect way to allow both sequels and prequels (which is what did happen lol). There's a ton of added replayability such as bonus puzzles, finding every furniture piece and arrangements, finding the charms, etc. It's so interactive and doesn't punish the player at all. This is an amazing puzzle game and there's no shame to not knowing the puzzle answers. You don't get full points if you mess up but that's fine as the picarats don't affect main story gameplay. I am so exccited to see how the sequels expand on the characters, especially Flora! She seems like a very unique character and I am so excited to see more of her. I am also just so happy to finally experience the beautiful music I have been listening to for years in the game. The music is so incredible and charming, it makes me want to find a nice, small European town to explore. What a great game and I am excited for what's next! Hopefully in time for the New World of Steam!
All of the stickers I got from Daiso. If you are interested in the materials I use you can check out my pinned post in my blog!
#professor layton#professor layton and the curious village#hershel layton#luke triton#curious village#bullet journal#journalsouppe#video game journal#journaling#journal
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Can you please write some maddy Perez x fem reader please! If you’re comfortable with it !
of course I can!!!
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒! kissing, makeout sessions, sexual references, talking about sex
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒! hell yeah I love this, it's a lyric fic!!!! based on the song Body Like A Back Road by Sam Hunt. on mobile, format might be weird. lowercase intended, unedited, double periods intended. no paragraphs in this, I dont like to add them to lyric fics. reader has braids in the first part? but it's just to match up with the song
maddy perez x fem!reader
"got a girl from the southside, got braids in her hair."
maddy was so lucky.
𝘴𝘩𝘦 got you, of all people
you were perfect.
you, with your perfect braids in your perfect hair and your perfect fucking eyes and your perfect fucking lips- okay I'm getting off track
if someone told her that her life was actually a dream, and she was asleep, she would believe them.
you were just that damn perfect.
"first time I seen her walk by, man i about fell up out my chair"
maddy met you on the southside of town, at the park near your house.
she was there with nate, sitting side-by-side on the swings but ignoring eachother. they had just gotten into a fight, but didnt want to leave him. she thought he was the love of her life.
and then she saw you
roller skating down the concrete path in the park with the sisters you were babysitting
she swears to god she almost fell off the swing when she made eye contact with you
"had to get her number, took me like 6 weeks"
maddy spent 5 weeks and 6 days trying to get your number.
talking to your friends was ruining her reputation a little too much, so she went to social media after she got your name
it sounds a little pitiful, but she was desperate
you searched your name on every social media platform she knew of
finally, she found you
after hours of scrolling through your photos, she found a picture of your class schedule that you posted at the beginning of the year.
and she found out that she actually had a couple classes with you
"now me and her go way back, like Cadillac seats"
after she finally talked to you, she convinced you to hang out with her
and she even got you to join the cheer squad
pretty soon, you two became best friends, but both of you knew that you liked each other.
well, maybe you loved each other.
after months of knowing you, she finally kissed you
and that was the start of an amazing relationship
"Body like a back road, Drivin' with my eyes closed. I know every curve like the back of my hand"
maddy knew everything about you and your body
you were perfect.
sure, she's said that before
but she really means it
like, she pictures you when she thinks of the word 'Goddess'
she knows exactly how to make you and your body happy
she'd do anything to make you happy
"Doin' 15 in a 30, I ain't in no hurry. I'ma take it slow just as fast as I can"
despite how quickly it seems you two got together, it actually went pretty slow
you were the first person maddy 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 wanted to spend time with, to take things slow with.
not because she didnt know how she felt, but because she wanted to savor every second she spent with you
she wanted to be with you forever, but she felt that forever isnt enough.
forever will never be enough.
"The way she fit in them blue jeans, She don't need no belt. But I can turn 'em inside out, I don't need no help"
god, the way your ass looked in those jeans was just perfect
she could cum just looking at you in them
or in anything, really
she's taken them off of you so many times that she can do it with her eyes closed and one-handed.
she loves the way you look.
"We're out here in the boondocks, With the breeze and the birds. Tangled up in the tall grass with my lips on hers."
ending this on a sweet note
she loves going out to the country with you
surrounded by nothing but fields and trees
sure, she loves the city
like, a lot
but she loves being alone with you even more
in the city, someone is bound to interrupt you.
she wants you to herself, and the best way to get that is to escape, run away.
so you do
every few weeks, you travel past the city limit and down the back roads to your spot.
nobody ever interrupted you, it was perfect.
everything was perfect.
#maddy perez#maddy perez fic#euphoria x reader#maddy x reader#maddy perez x reader#chaos' army#chaos calling!
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— open starter.
status - open to all, but pls read my rules and mobile about (pinned post) first before interacting. don't like my starters.
muse - vasti inaiê souza gonçalves, sculptor, potter and printmaker. bisexual, uses she/her pronouns. human, thirty.
wanted opposites (in order of priority) - m/nb/f, 30+. mocs (muns/muses of color) preferred.
wanted connections - literal strangers, an ex, fellow artist, someone they haven't seen since sixth grade, as long as they're a little richer than vasti is (and not related) go literally batsh*t
plot - they're on their way to personally deliver one of their commissions but they haven't slept well in over 48 hours (they've slept enough to not get pulled over, they can drive) and really should have hired a truck or sent it through the post but hey they've done it before and the client is right across town (or city, cough) so it shouldn't be too bad right? they'll make it except you just kind of yk. rear-ended them at the stoplight and their sh*t's in the trunk bc it couldn't fit in the back seat and now you might have just f*cked sh*t up if that packing wrap isn't as good as it's marketed to be. potential meet cute with insurance problems and career threatening happenings basically, what could be better than that
— she hears it before she feels it, the way the body of the car lurches underneath her at the street corner. the rattling in the back is too loud for her to ignore, and she's already doing inventory on what she has with her. registration papers, house keys, studio keys, that flat tire kit she's never had to use in her life and hopes she won't have to now, the delivery— oh God, fuck, the delivery. in the trunk. surrounded by a shit ton of bubble wrap and cling film and whatever the fuck else she wrapped it in at 3am two days ago and placed it in its box, but last she checked no flat tire makes that kind of sound like the kind where there's a bit too much metal and you know in your gut you'll need to call your insurance company. both of them, in her case, if the vehicle in her rearview mirror is giving anything to go by. que se lixe isso, this is not a good day. her blood pressure was not made for this. neither was her neck, for that matter, but she doubts there was enough speed behind the impact to cause any whiplash worth worrying about.
she unlocks her phone as she steps out, car door slamming closed behind her, insurance already on speed dial. as a precaution she takes a few photos of the other car's license plate, now neatly tucked (along with the front bumper) just barely under her chassis—she is not paying for this shit if she doesn't have to, especially if the driver in question has enough money to be driving a car like that right into her sedan and especially if they might have just jeopardized her commission. three months, hundreds of hours, possibly damaged in her trunk because it's the one day she didn't have her morning coffee and decided to put it there instead of the backseat, bubble wrap or no bubble wrap. yeah, she'll milk every last penny from that payout while she's at it. might as well be pissed for a reason. 'hey,' she says, coming up to the window as it rolls down, 'i'm sorry, this is going to sound so completely fucking obvious and i know this and you know this but i think you just rear-ended me? and there's something in my trunk that i really need to get out and check on before this day goes any further to shit than it already has so if you could please try and back the fuck up, it would be much appreciated. juro o túmulo da minha mãe.' her mother is alive, thank you very much, but it's not like they need to know that in english or portuguese. // @indiestarter
#* open starters.#( * starters - vasti. )#( * threads - vasti. )#indie rp#indie oc rp#indie bi rp#independent rp#indie starter#open starter#( * so like. funny thing when it's OOC/my main i like censor everything. but at this point i've been on Tumblr so long that the#| asterisks are basically me and my hyperfixation and aesthetic choice than anything else bc IC????? no asterisks babe we are writing#| this sh*t out [see. exactly what i mean look at the starter and then look at this. smh]#| anyway say hi to Vasti!!!!!!! treat her nicely she's been rotting my brain for the past week and a half but whatever you do#| this is not good shipping practice for your artwork do not follow this advice tho in her defense she's running on low sleep#| and zero coffee. i also speak no Portuguese whatsoever i get all of this off the net so if it's wrong i'm sorry. i'll fix it sksksksk#| tldr; it's here i got off my ass and wrote a medium length starter after years of not RPing everybody cheer. do not feel pressured#| to match the length this happened bc i am a fic/book writer first and foremost i don't do short unless i'm replying rip )
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I think at the end of the day, no matter how much you may love Limbus Company; I feel like you probably understand and agree with the concept of the idea that it absolutely could have just been another $60 full release game like LoR or LC rather than being a predatory "name your own price" title gacha game that was sold to us as "we want to give you something back for funding our future projects" when we have no idea what projects, if any; are even being worked on that aren't LCB and what the fundraising goals are for those.
Like I'm not even going to get into the whole discourse of what happened a bit ago revealing the fact they're not just an "uwu small indie group" anymore and all that because that doesn't even change anything here.
Limbus Company isn't inherently a bad game at all, sure I don't necessarily care for (or even understand fully) the mechanics at play in it's system; but those mechanics are made infinitely worse when you bring in the FOMO. FOMO that is, inherently; and entirely unnecessary. With seasons, time limited gacha, and side story events that constantly demand more of your time; and if you care to complete them easier or collect/have everything the game has to offer; your money. I get it, you can use your friend's characters so then you just have to befriend a whale or two and you should be fine right? Well no, there's limitations on that; and even if you go that route you don't keep those characters.
With some of the characters just being inherently better than others the game DOES become harder (even if it's able to be done by some top player entirely F2P that's not the point. I ran LoR where I only used the starting deck and 1 librarian up until Love Town, that doesn't mean it was easy or that you SHOULD play that way! It drove me insane but it was a self imposed challenge and I never even cleared Love Town that way given how the game functions) for players who don't want to shell out and buy gacha; and yes they do give you a good amount of pulls and if you happen to be unlucky that's just tough. You get what you get and try to make the most of it if you won't hand over your money.
So then let's go back to the idea that, when you do give your money to PM they're using it to further produce more of what you love, right? Well... kind of? If you exclusively love Limbus Company then sure. Those of us who got left behind and don't have everything we need or don't understand the system well enough can't even get to the current story chapters because the game's difficulty is fucked if you don't bother to learn it extensively enough. Now I don't have anything against a hard mobile game but at least in the past if you weren't good at the management simulator or you didn't understand how to build a deck; us mod creators and the like had you covered. Now you're stuck looking up videos on youtube or reading posts on tumblr that you just kind of have to hope aren't fandomizing half of the information.
I don't know man it feels fucked to me. I'm glad people enjoy Limbus and all that, but I feel like we're not going to see another mainline actual single player non-micro transaction game from PM and that feels shitty after loving this franchise for years. I feel like my special interest was taken from me by the company who made the damn thing in the first place all because I wasn't able and willing to shell out hundreds of bucks since I happened to be in a rough spot during it's launch.
Which is all the more upsetting since I genuinely do like the characters, the music, the atmosphere and setting of Limbus Company; it seems cool and I was really excited to have a continuation of Lob Corps after effects on the world. It's a shame I won't ever get to experience it.
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Hi all. Some of you know my partner @crimeronan - maybe for her original fiction, her fanfiction, or her assorted queer/polyamorous/chronically ill life blogging.
If you do know—or know of—Kitkat, you might know them as a resource, or as a writer, or as that person who has been known to sit down and write six paragraphs of advice to the scared young person in their inbox. Perusing their blog I see people trading autoimmune stories, younger queer and polyamorous people asking questions about what it's like to be in your mid twenties and settled into those things, and people who found stories who resonated in ways stories don't always succeed at.
Or maybe not! That’s my platonic partner of four years. Happy to introduce u.
If you ARE aware of Kitkat, you might know that she recently FINALLY got an initial appointment with a rheumatology clinic. This after a big medical mystery that’s spanned over two years and taken them to the ER more times than anyone can feel good about.
The good news is that things are FINALLY moving forward. Kitkat has posted a lot more about that entire saga, if anyone is interested, but the main thing right now is that there are test results that are usable in a diagnosis, there will be a diagnosis that is usable in treatment, there are follow-up appointments in the very immediate future that will do a lot of good. It's all kind of astounding after the amount of time it took to get here.
The bad news is that their car broke down.
To say the money situation is already tight would be, though I’m sorry to put it like this, understated. Kitkat makes most of her money from freelance writing, and, first of all, is a fucking wizard at it in ways I don’t understand. But she recently lost her biggest consistent clients when— and she was told this outright— those clients switched to ChatGPT.
Perhaps more to the point— they're often too sick to work. They've pivoted to gig economy delivery jobs, but that is an enormous physical demand on ANYONE’s body, let alone when you’re severely sick.
So that’s where the financial situation is at right now.
I do slot into this, so to give you the story on that: I’m moving to Oregon to live with my partners next month, and will be contributing to the household income then (which is why I'm moving so soon). But I was originally planning to finish trade school first and move in January 2024, so everything’s very last-minute, and a little haywire. I now have at least one job interview lined up in town, but I won’t even be in Beaverton until mid-August, and this auto repair bill is due now.
Basically: because of this auto repair bill, they’re not going to be able to make rent. I expect we as a group will probably be okay once I’m in Oregon and more established/able to help out with the household income, but things aren’t there yet, and this isn't money we're going to be able to make back later.
Kitkat's been too sick to work consistently for so much too long, and that's why they need to turn to community support right now.
(I know Tumblr is famously not a "meet every goalpost before deserving help" website, and I think a lot of fundraisers with less explanation than this deserve support. I'm just a very wordy person. Thanks for bearing with me.)
Kitkat has limited mobility and is going to need to get to upcoming appointments, and speaking honestly, also just really needs access to a car to make things like groceries feasible. She’s not the only one in the apartment with limited mobility or chronic pain. Add to that the gig delivery jobs as a main source of income right now, and this is a necessary bill, just one that is sky-high relative to the income trying to tackle it.
So, you know, hello. I've brought a couple of fundraisers onto Tumblr in the past on other people’s behalf. This time I’ve gotta ask on behalf of my own found family.
The bill has come out to $717.80.
As of now, rent money has been used to pay it—the car has been repaired now, but that money was for rent and daily expenses. There is already financial assistance in play, particularly Medicaid. As it stands, because of this bill, they're not going to make rent.
To account for GoFundMe's fees of 2.9% + $0.30 per transaction, the goal is set to $750.
If you’re in any way able to give, the link is here: https://gofund.me/c0f9d7fe
Otherwise, a share goes a really long way.
Thank you a ton for reading this far. Times are hard all around, so please know: this post is an appeal to those among us who have disposable income and are looking to donate some of it.
Thank you.
$1,323/750
Date posted: July 27th, 2023
Updated: July 28th, 2023
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It's actually fascinating to me that dating apps have essentially pulled the same bullshit that streaming services (and the video game industry, now that i think about it) have pulled.
Essentially:
- the market is over-saturated
- "content" is spread thin
- constant downgrades and removal of free features to paid tiers
I can think of quite a few dating apps off the top of my head. Hinge, Tinder, Bumble, OkCupid. (Most of which have enjoyed a brief five minutes on my phone before I realized ahh scary, but hear me out.) Userbases are actually spread pretty thin. Tinder has the most people on it, being the only usable app in many small town and rural areas. It has very effectively marketed itself as a hookup app, not a relationship app*--hence, people stay on the app longer and are more likely to get frustrated and pay for the premium tiers (after all, those 86 likes are so tantalizing! I want to know who they are! Ah...now that I've paid, where did they all go?) Technically all of these platforms will advertise your profile globally, far outside your location to drum up likes and trick you into paying for premium, but Tinder is a pretty hefty offender because of its near-ubiquity and explicit de-emphasis on long term relationships.
Other apps lack the userbase that Tinder has. They might be okay in the city, but the effect is very similar to content being divided among the many streaming platforms that have sprung forth since the advent of Netflix. Sure, it's easy enough to download every dating app available on the app store, but you have to a) dedicate time to curating your preferences on each of these apps and b) the free versions suck ass. Depending on what subscription model you get, these things can run you up as much as 40 bucks a month per subscription. That racks up fast. And people are desperate for companionship.
Here's the other comparison. Remember the paid streaming tier of Netflix with ads, when in the past decade its explicit appeal was having all the content with no ads?
I did a little snooping on the OkCupid subreddit, because I was curious. Most of the most popular posts and success stories were from... 2014. Nearing a decade ago, at this point. Many, many of the features that made (free!) OkCupid not only usable, but a genuinely accessible and efficient online dating experience have been slowly chipped away. Looking at the google reviews, and the subreddit, you can see how disappointed people were to watch this app's downfall. Prior to my own forays into online dating, when I was first doing research about free dating apps (because I'm a dirty cheapskate) I noticed that naturally, the older the articles were, the more highly these apps were spoken of. Despite this being the supposed heyday of online dating, the apps are at the worst they've ever been.
The parallels to the downgrades of streaming services are fairly clear, but I think it's even more obvious and insidious when you compare it to the state of microtransactions in the gaming industry.
See, many of these apps have "boost" mechanics that advertises your profile to more people (because everything these days is so swipe-heavy) or they have "super likes" that are limited and can be bought and let your potential match know you're interested--god, even the all important, basic dating mechanic of "letting people know you're interested in them" is made into a paid feature! Admittedly, most of my examples here pertain to OkCupid (because it's the only app I can bring myself to spend more than 48 hours on), but that one makes you pay fucking $1.99 for read receipts**. This is very similar to the pay structure of the mobile games industry, as well as the free-to play model of many modern console and PC games.
The gaming industry, being something of a new medium of expression and working as its own "virtual reality" of sorts, is usually a harbinger of new "innovations" in the ways we are sold commodities--lootboxes, for example.
And here we are. The invasion of microtransactions, season passes, and paid DLC that gut the base game of the most personal aspect of our lives.
In the case of streaming services and certain games, the solution has been piracy, or not to play. But for many of us, romantic loneliness is a major barrier to happiness in our lives, and the results these subscription services net us are...minimal. For those of us who are less than conventionally attractive or socially awkward, I mean, there's a reason we're trying to utilize these apps in the first place.
The equivalent to piracy is risking rejection and asking people out face to face. Otherwise... you can't exactly download a relationship. Or not one with a real person, at least. Our loneliness is already being capitalized on via AI romantic companions, as we've seen with Replika.
I've seen a fair few people (in my circle of edgy lefty tumblr, anyways) express frustration over the odd little cognitive dissonance that it's no longer as comfortable or commonplace to express romantic interests in strangers, though it may be in a normal, respectful way. Can't help but feel like that's related.
*I want to clarify that people who do hookups are cool and can do whatever they want. It's just that the state of the dating app industry has left those of us more interested in long term relationships in the dust.
**These are generally bad in normal day to day life, but I would argue in the context of a dating app that these can be pretty crucial in determining another person's interest.
#online dating#capitalism#tinder#hinge#dating#Unfortunately I was born about eight years too late to enjoy the good parts of online dating#alas#if i were not twelve years old i might have jumped on it sooner#i'm definitely not the first person to have made this connection#i've just had a couple realizations that i very much should have asked the cute boy at sophie's party if he was single#i'm even a girl! i'm supposed to have it easy! You could even call me cute if you were so inclined!#can't help but wonder if the ease of accessiblity to online dating is correlated with gender animosity#at least among straight men and women#incels being an obvious example but i've seen plenty of animosity from women towards men about this subject#long post#Anyway sorry if this is saying something everybody already knows i just hate capitalism#i hate being alienated#i hate being mediated by outside forces
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Blood Ties - Chapter Fourty-five: There Will Come Soft Rain
Soulmate au Choso x Reader
Warnings: canon typical violence. Swearing. blood mention. Overall sfw
Word count: 3.6k
A/n: NGL tumblrs mobile post editor was really fighting me on this one so apologies for any formatting errors :)
Prev - next
Masterlist
“You're back,” you say.
James turned to look at you slowly. Your back is to him, the light from the fridge illuminating the dark kitchen. Only the light over the stove is on. He sets down the things in his arms: an assortment of leftovers, and a white claw. The potted plant in the center of the table—some kind of clover—is wilting.
Although the curtains are drawn tight, the lights from a neighboring porch are visible.
“So are you.” He says.
The calendar on the wall reads January 2017. The first two weeks are crossed off. It's the night of the 15th.
James remembers this.
“Where the hell have you been?” You ask.
He always found it funny how so much can change in such little time. Despite your difference in ages, you and him were once close. Then he moved away for work, and you left for college. The two of you talked less and less, growing further apart.
Despite being almost two years younger in this memory, you appear older. The first true taste of freedom hit you hard. To you, it didn't seem to matter if the choices you made were the wrong ones, as long as it got you away from your hometown. The last thing you wanted was to go home to your mother, and lick your wounds. But after a semester of partying, and failed classes, you didn't have anywhere else to go.
“Work.” He says. “Seoul.”
He heats up his leftovers; rice porridge with chicken. You take a seat across from him at the table. The light stays off, so as to not disturb your mother.
You always hated small talk.
“Why are you back?” He asks. “Don't you have class?”
“Dropped out.” You say. “Decided to skip town.”
James remembers this. He remembers the irritation he felt towards you at this moment. This is one of the few times in his life he remembers being truly angry.
“Does mom know?” He asks.
“Haven't told her yet,” you say, “and I don't have any plans to.”
James narrows his eyes. “You realize she’ll find out eventually, right?”
“Why?” You ask. “You going to snitch on me?”
“You can't keep this from her forever.” He says. “What happens when she starts questioning why you're back? You weren't even gone an entire semester! Why quit?”
“I don't know.” You said. “Couldn't stick around, I guess,
"It's not a big deal. I don't need college to get ahead in life,” you say.
“No,” he says, “but it really fuckin’ helps.”
You kick his leg under the table. “I’ll just do what you’re doing.” You say. “You seem to be doing pretty well for yourself. Plus you travel all the time and-”
James remembers seeing red. The anger he felt towards you in this moment. The jealousy.
He stands, the chair behind him scraping against the wood floor. His hands slam down on the table.
“You're throwing your life away—leaving like that!” He says. He’s yelling. He doesn't mean to. “You don't want to end up in this line of work!”
"What the fuck?" You ask. Now you're yelling too. "You don't know shit about what I'm going through!"
“Oh, sure, you get to leave and blow all your money partying, but I'm the family fuck-up?!” He says. “I wanted to go to college too, you know!" His fists are clutched tightly at his sides. And for a very brief moment, his calm demeanor falters.
He doesn't remember where you went that night, just that you grabbed your keys and took off. You wouldn't return to your mother’s house for a week after that. By then, James was long gone.
But it's never stopped him from thinking of what could have been, had you not followed him.
…
[Kamo Clan Estate, present day]
Much like your arrival at Jujutsu Tech, you are unceremoniously locked in a room.
Aside from saying “we'll be back”, the two guards don't speak to you. There's the click of two locks as they exit—the one on the handle, and a deadbolt. This time you're allowed to hold onto your belongings. Maybe they don't expect you to try and escape. Maybe they do.
Maybe that's their plan.
For almost twenty minutes you sit there, staring dead ahead at the wall. If someone is out in the hall guarding you, then they've been nothing but silent. When you peek through the crack at the bottom of the door, you spy nothing. This room looks like it was once meant to be a guest bedroom. There's a bed and an old, expensive looking vanity. The furnishings are sparse, but comfortable. If it weren't for the lock being on the other side of the door, you would be none the wiser.
It makes you wonder if this is a common enough occurrence that the Kamo clan needs such rooms.
A groan leaves you as you stand. In the short time you’ve been sitting, your limbs have stiffened. The floorboards creak underfoot as you make your way over to the vanity, your hands resting on the edge.
It doesn't take you long to figure out the door is warded: attacks using cursed energy will be useless. Trying to break it down would draw attention from anyone outside—but would be a way to bypass the wards.
Defeated, you slump against the wall, before your gaze falls to the vanity. Sitting atop it is a box of bobby pins.
Movies make lockpicking look a lot simpler than it really is. You jab one of the pins into the lower half of the lock, using another to work open the top part. The task conjures up the image of old spy movies, where an actor is able to open a lock with just a paperclip and enough willpower. Reality is a lot more difficult than that.
The second lock is a lot easier dealt with than the first. By the time you get it open, almost ten minutes have passed. Despite being met with an empty hallway, you move quickly, worried that the noise has drawn someone’s attention. Cursed energy hangs heavy in the air, a faint metallic smell follows each breath you take. You walk with a limp—you doubt you broke anything, but the pain in your foot makes it hard to walk right. Using the glow of your lock screen as a flashlight, you're able to find your way into a lit room.
It's clear from the furniture—all old and expensive, probably family heirlooms—that this isn't the entrance. The curtains are drawn tight over the windows. A table lamp fills the room with a soft orange glow. There’s a sterile quality to this space; everything appears too clean, and uninhabited.
Looming over a table, filling cups with tea, is Suguru Geto.
Kenjaku.
Fear prickles at your palms. You flatten yourself against the wall in an attempt to make yourself as small and invisible as possible. He hasn't reacted, so you suspect he hasn't noticed you.
To no avail. Geto hums, motioning to you with his hand.
Your feet are moving before your brain is telling them to. Fight or flight has kicked in. Something in the back of your mind is sending danger—rightfully so.
“Sit down.” He says. “I have no intentions to make a mess of this room,
“Besides, I've been meaning to talk to you.”
You? Why you?
You don't want to listen to him, but your body betrays you, stirred by his tone of voice. It must be cursed speech, you think, it has to be. Your eyes fall to the table in front of you. The finish on the wood is badly chipped on one corner. There's the remnants of some kind of stain on the wood floor.
As he sets a cup down in front of you, he takes note of the way you eye it. “If you're worried about it being poisoned—it's not.” He says. “You are not worth the effort, nor the ingredients.”
It's not an insult. It shouldn't be. Yet his tone of voice irks you. Your eyes narrow, and you snatch the cup from the table, downing it in one swig.
He takes a seat at the table directly across from you. Something in the back of your head is screaming at you to run.
“You must be well aware of who I am by now, but we never had a proper introduction.” He says, holding his hand out for you to shake it. You keep your hands firmly clasped together in your lap.
“I have heard about you. Quite a lot more than you’d imagine,
“A human-born sorcerer betrothed to a cursed womb death painting?” He says, feigning amazement. “Not only that, but the same sorcerer who managed to obtain the remaining seven cursed wombs? You are quite the news around here, considering the family you were born from…”
“You don't know shit about my family,” you say.
Kenjaku smiles, but the expression doesn't reach his eyes, so it appears as if he's leering at you. Really, you feel like cornered prey; a rabbit facing down a fox.
“I’ve heard enough to know that you're not born from a line of sorcerers." He says. "That both you and your brother managed to awaken a cursed technique from deep within your bloodline. I don't think you realize just how rare that is…
"One in a million—rarer than that; you two are one in several billion."
Every cell in your being is screaming at you to run. You try your best to ignore it. If Kenjaku wanted you dead, you would be.
“What the hell do you want?”
That's what seems to finally stir him from his thoughts. Kenjaku flicks a stray lock of hair away from his eyes. “You are—unfortunately—not the person I’m looking for.” He says, bringing his cup to his lips.
“‘Unfortunately’ isn't the word I’d use personally.” You say.
Kenjaku smiles. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. He pays no mind to your words, he’s only waiting for you to quit speaking.
“You may not have had part in this originally, but that doesn't mean I have no use for you.” He stands, before making his way over to the table he was first at. He shuffles around some papers, before returning to you, and setting them in front of you. It’s another moment before either of you move. You’re the first to do so, carefully taking the top one: a cream colored piece of paper, with an ornate blue border.
“I had your marriage backdated a year,” he says. “It’s now legally recognized both in Japan, and your home country. I hope that’s alright with you.”
Below that is another paper—another certificate. A degree. Backdated two years.
“As far as the government is concerned, you’ve been teaching at Jujutsu Technical College in Tokyo for the past year.” He says. “You’ll find paystubs, and proof of residence while you’re at it.”
“Why?” You ask.
“Because I think you and I will work well together. We’re family now.” He says. “Originally, I had no plans to keep Choso around, but you changed things. Perhaps I have a use for him after all…”
The sharp pain in your palms is the only thing to signal to you that you’ve been clenching your fists.
“We are not family.” You say. “You raped Choso’s mother, and you are nothing more than a parasite to me.”
You want to follow that sentence up with a “fuck you”. But you bite your tongue. That’ll have to do.
“Do you think of your beloved Choso the same way?” He asks. He leans in close enough for you to smell something sweet on his breath. Almonds. “His situation and mine aren't that different after all…”
In an instant, you’ve managed to drop your expression entirely. Your nails dig into your palms hard enough to leave little crescent-shaped indents. Fear still prickles at the back of your neck, but you manage to show no sign of it on your face. Barely.
“You and Choso are nothing alike. You’re parading around in the body of Suguru Geto, soulmate of Satoru Gojo,” you say. “Using that man’s face, and identity as your own… sounds parasitic to me.”
Your tone is flat, and unmoved. You speak cold and clinically. Kenjaku is amused by your sudden change in demeanor.
“Do you think of the body that Choso occupies?” He asks. “Of the boy it once belonged to?
“He was a 23 year old college student. Tanaka, Ken. Majoring in radiology at Tokyo Medical and Dental University,
“He lived with his mother, and younger sister in Osaka. His father passed from bone cancer when he was fourteen, which was the catalyst moment that made him decide to pursue a career in medicine,
“Don't you think that they’re wondering why he’s not coming home for the holidays?”
He could be lying. And he could be telling the truth.
But deep down, you know Kenjaku is only trying to get under your skin. He’s trying to toy with your humanity. Giving in to him is what he wants.
In this situation, it would be best to remove your humanity from it. Choso is not something that exists differently from his body; he is not like Kenjaku. Whatever existed before him is dead now. Just another casualty.
Thinking so coldly doesn't help you process it any better. Something heavy makes itself home in your chest.
At the end of the day, the best case scenario is when a human has a normal death. And Choso’s host wasn't granted that.
“I never knew the guy,” you say, folding your hands in your lap. “why should I care?”
Kenjaku circles around you, stopping directly behind you. Your hand comes up to knead at your aching shoulder.
“And I didn't realize you were such a cold, hardened killer, Kamo.”
Kenjaku doesn't try to hide that he’s making fun of you. The back of the chair creaks as he sets his hands on it. He’s almost close enough for you to feel his breath on your neck. Almost. You suspect it’s all meant to bother you; his carefully chosen words, his closeness. All of it is meant to get under your skin.
“You've been in the Tomb of the Star Corridor, haven't you?” He asks.
You could lie. It wouldn't be a convincing one, but it's an option. Lying or not, Kenjaku will figure it out one way or another.
“I have.” You say. “I talked with Tengen too.”
You’re not really sure what angle you’re trying to play at with that last sentence. Kenjaku seems unphased.
“Have you thought about bearing me grandchildren yet?” He asks.
Bile forces its way up into your throat only to stick there. Kenjaku takes a sip of his tea as if this is simply another Tuesday afternoon to him.
“What the actual fuck?!” Your voice sounds an octave higher now. Sweat beads along your palms.
Kenjaku seems unphased. “I don't expect to be around forever,” he continues, “and this clan will need more heirs. With Noritoshi dealt with, the family line will branch out into my children.”
Meaning… any sons you and Choso have… will be next in line as the head of the Kamo clan.
A cold feeling slithers around your heart. Your meager breakfast threatens to make a reappearance.
“I won't have a son.” You say. It’s the quickest response you can think of.
“Son or daughter,” he says, setting his cup down, “your child will be strong,
“Have you not paid any attention to the cursed techniques they could inherit? Let alone what would happen if they combine?! Despite having no sorcerers in your lineage, both you and your brother have managed to awaken a cursed technique. Does that not strike you as odd?
“And your child's father—a curse user who is possibly the most talented user of Blood Manipulation—do you really think that any children you have won't inherit that?”
You think that, at this moment, you could reach right across the table and strangle him.
Funny. You recall your conversation with Yuki, not all that long ago. Then I hope there's a timeline where I kick Kenjaku's ass…
Kenjaku rests his chin on his hands, leaning towards you. He’s studying you; like a child to an insect. But the cockroach doesn't question the boot on its way down to squish it.
He retrieves something from his pocket. It's cardboard, and green. Cigarettes. Newports.
Your gaze falls to something square, and fleshy-colored on the table behind him. The prison realm.
Why hasn't he gotten rid of it? Why keep it so close?
Everything Kenjaku does is meticulously planned out. He does not move without intent. Each action he takes before you is carefully thought through.
He steps over to the table, plucking the prison realms up from it. Kenjaku holds the relic at arms length as if he's inspecting it. The eyes of the prison realm weep silently, and the body of Suguru Geto trembles.
He's taunting you.
“Why keep the prison realm?” You ask.
To you, it seems pointless to hold onto it. Keeping it around is only asking for someone to come grab it.
And for a very brief moment, you see Suguru Geto behind his eyes.
But the body remembers. The body knows that the prison realm has something it once held dear.
“Despite his change of heart in Shibuya, your brother and I agreed on many things: the merging of humanity and cursed spirits is inevitable.” He says. “How we would go about that is where we differed,
“James wanted to destroy cursed spirits from which they first formed: the string of fate. And the emergence of his cursed technique only furthered his efforts,
“Of course to do such a thing, he’d have to greatly amplify his cursed energy output. At his current state, committing such an act would not only kill him, but be incomplete.”
It doesn't seem to matter how hard you try to keep your composure; shock seeps through.
“Are you saying…?”
“James believed that the 1% of human beings born without a string of fate, were the ones truly free of cursed energy.” Kanjaku says. “He believed the only way to free humanity was to sever those bonds.”
Love is truly the most twisted curse of all.
“My brother may be able to create a string of fate, but I am the only one who can destroy it.” You lie. It doesn't matter if you win this, all you have to do is instill a seed of doubt. To pave the way for someone stronger, or smarter.
Kenjaku does a double take.
“If you sat and thought about it for more than a few minutes, you’d realize we have similar cursed techniques.” You say. “He creates the string of fate. I destroy it. We are two halves of the same coin.”
In an instant, this conversation has become the world's second worst game of chicken. If he does believe you, he doesn't let it show on his face. He sets down the prison realm, fingers drumming against the tabletop. It doesn't matter if you win this, all you have to do is instill a seed of doubt.
“That's quite literally impossible.” He says, looking unimpressed. “Only one person can-”
“You are in the body of the soulmate of Satoru Gojo,” you say. “How would I know that if I wasn't a soulmate sorcerer?”
Kenjaku sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I have nothing more for you,” he says, waving you away, “so I suggest you see yourself out.”
You’re close enough now to feel the heat radiating off his body. To smell the cursed energy that clings to his clothes. To see the fraying sutures on his forehead. Soft locks of hair spill over into his face.
The body remembers…
“We’re not done here,” you say.
And you swing your head into his.
Your forehead makes contact with the bridge of his nose, and a resounding crunch! follows. There’s no cursed energy behind the hit. Kenjaku doesn't brace for it either. Both of you recoil upon contact. The skin on the bridge of his nose is split down to the bone. It turns from white, to pink, then to red as blood begins pouring from the wound.
Adrenaline has kicked in full force. You become acutely aware of the pain in your head—or lack thereof. It strikes you: the feeling that this will come back to bite you in the ass later.
“The magic you are fucking with is far older than you or I.” You warn. “You may think you have destroyed Suguru Geto's soul entirely but you haven't. He's still dinging around in that skull of yours—I can feel him,
“The body remembers. It knows that the prison realm has something it once held dear, and that's why no matter how hard you try, you can't part from it.”
The next few seconds seem to stretch on into eternity. Kenjaku appears frozen, blinking the blood out of his eyes. You dive for the prison realm, your fingers ghosting across the surface of it before he swipes it away.
Out from the ground springs a cursed spirit. You don't properly see it, so much as you see the way the air warps around it. Its body is like that of a worm. Slimy. Its mouth opens, swallowing the prison realm whole, before it burrows back into the ground.
Did that thing just…?
His elbow connects with your sternum. The hit knocks you off your feet. By the time you hit the ground, you’re rolling onto your stomach. The floor is cold against your palms. As you weakly attempt to push yourself off the ground, you’re stopped by something: a foot pressing down against your back.
If he wanted you dead, you would be.
“One day, you will deem this world safe enough to have children.” Kenjaku says. “And no matter how far you run, or how hard you try to hide, your past will always catch up with you.”
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Genuinely curious why you hate new Vegas
BOY WHERE TO START
There is entirely way too much I have to say about this fucking game because unfortunately I have in fact played it, for multiple hours, way after I'd already decided I didn't like it, so much that I actually think trying to explain all of it I think I might actually have to go beyond the fabled mobile post character limit, but for starters a thing that exponentially increases the amount I hate it is that I listened to/believed the hype and expected the game to be not just good but according to FNV fans (particularly Hbomberguy who was the guy who convinced me to spend my own real human money on this shit with his video about it) that it was going to be the best game of all time. It's not. It's far, really far from it.
I don't even think it's the worst game of all time. I think it's shit, like, unambiguously, but there are games that are both worse on a technical aspect and even less enjoyable than FNV is. But FNV couldn't have the decency of just being bad, it also had to carry an insufferably, inexplicably smug essence to it, like it really believes itself to actually be one of the greatest games of all time. So a lot of the unpleasantness of playing this shit game comes not from its own inherent shittiness but from how that shittiness looks when compared to not only what they promised but what they honest to God believe they achieved.
Let's start with the choices and morality system. I think this is a good point to illustrate what I'm talking about bc it's the thing most hyped about it. FNV fans seemingly love the game because it "let's you do anything", and while I could go into a very long tangent about what "can do anything" means in a context like this I'll just trust everyone to understand that what this means is never going to be "literally anything at all" but rather "you can navigate situations the game delineated for you in multiple ways that correspond to what most people would reasonably consider doing in a situation like that".
Having established that, FNV doesn't have that. Or rather, at the very least, it doesn't have that anywhere that matters. The game is railroaded to hell regardless of what anyone says. Take the start of the game. From the first city, you can go to multiple directions. Sounds good right? Except in every one of them aside from the next point in the main storyline you're almost certainly gonna die. Surely you could be super good at the game, or just minmax the shit out of your build (usually the same thing) so sure, you "can do anything you want (but terms and conditions may apply)".
Once you start the storyline itself, you realize most of your choices are either quite meaningless or are stupid choices people would only pick to see what happens. And, maybe that's just my personal belief that isn't gonna be self evident to everyone but I think that it should be self evident that a game about important MORAL choices where half the choices you make are basically just for shits and giggles is a bad game about moral choices. What do you get from siding with the powder gangers? Morally they're the wrong choice, narratively they're not particularly interesting (although, no one else is either lol) and mechanically you only get a handful of quests with XP rewards. And in exchange you gain infamy with the entire first town of the fucking game. The only reason that choice is there is so they can say it's there.
Then you get to Primm (and you'll always get to Primm next) and you see Caesar's Legion (who up to this point you only heard negative things about) has burnt down an entire town and fucking crucified the people in there, and then the game forces you to interact with an unbearably cringy LARPer raving about sodomites or whatever. This, for your information, is what Hbomb described as being great at representing how good fascism is at dressing up its true intentions with pretty words, and what one of the lead designers of the game said was their attempt (that they seem unironically proud of) at showing how seductive the aesthetics of fascism can be which may make you lose sight of its most pernicious aspects. They say this, because they really think making Caesar just say the name Hegel means they wrote dialogue, seemingly forgetting that 1) no, it does not and 2) that is not even close to our first contact with Caesar and no, seeing a group of people that FUCKING CRUCIFIES PEOPLE FOR BEING SODOMITES DOES NOT MAKE THEM SEEM APPEALING TO JOIN. This is yet another choice that is obviously in the wrong but again, because it's there, they get to say that their choices game is meaningful or whatever because you can choose to be inequivocably evil.
The most ludicrous part of it is that FNV fans criticize the whole "your only actual choice is whether you want to be good or evil" when it's done in Fallout 3, because "Bethesda are evil and ruined our game series waaa" but when the golden boys at Obsidian do it it's "masterful, nuanced storytelling". What a joke.
This whole choices shit ties into mechanics (as I said, minmaxing is a way of maximizing your choices), so let's talk about the karma system: it's pointless and does nothing. Also it exposes the sham of the game being about making you come to your own conclusion of what's morally good and bad because the creators already tell you what they think you should do based on what makes you lose or gain karma so like. lol.
Moving on, character building is shit bc there's obviously only one right way of doing it ever: Charisma 1 Intelligence 10, and maxing out speech as early as possible because guess what: most of their "amazing nuanced storytelling" is locked behind a mindless fucking skill check so you don't have to actually, say, think about your words and what would be the correct thing to say to deescalate a situation or such, no, you just pick the option that has the number on it. Which is obviously the right choice that will give you the most mechanic, moral and narrative payoff.
Let me tell you a little story: when I played that shit arse fucking "free the prostitutes from the casino" quest (which, had the worst game mechanic of all time, waiting for an NPC to walk from one point to the other, a grand total of 3 fucking times) the game gave me a skill check at the end. If I could pass it, I walked out fine. If I couldn't, they killed the guy I was escorting out of town even though I could take them out and I failed the quest. All of that shit I did was for nothing and I get no storytelling rewards from trying to play the game the way I can and want to (killing guys that annoy me). I know FNV fans will be rabid about that shit because "well you do have other choices!" Yes I did. The one I picked was pumping myself full of drugs so I passed the strength check and making this stupid fucking check meaningless. I passed and I still didn't like it. Doesn't help that the quest itself was bad, and shows just how disgustingly chauvinistic this game is, which makes me all the more puzzled about why so many of the people who praise it are at least nominally leftists. Probably bc it's mostly in the form of American chauvinism (this game is disgustingly American) and American leftists are so fucking clueless about that lmao (we're not getting into that though this is already gonna be too long even without that)
As if the quest itself being bad wasn't enough and didn't have a stupid fucking ending like that, afterwards when you go to talk to that stupid fucking piece of shit disgusting jackass robot (that they shoved in that shit to railroad me into doing their shit main quest the way they wanted me to) to tell him about how you feel about their faction, your only option is to say you have no beef with them because you put in a different guy in charge of it who's exactly like the first guy. You walking in the casino afterwards and killing everyone inside makes no narrative difference either.
Another example: the quest where you help a bunch of ghouls build a rocketship to moon, the entire time I was doing that quest I thought I would get the option to tell them "hey this guy is obviously pulling your leg and this is a suicide mission" and then you get to the end and you just. Don't. Your only options are sending them to certain doom or letting the one human member sabotage their ship and kill them instantly instead of just eventually. It's not like it wouldn't be silly to also be able to just dissuade members of a cult all willy nilly like that, but the idea should have been at least acknowledged, so that the quest could have like, said anything about anything at all.
The only time I did a quest where I felt like my wish was actually fulfilled was the quest in Novac where a guy asks you to find out who sold his wife into slavery (who btw he himself killed because he "couldn't bear to see her like that or something" lol) and you find out it's the nice mayor old lady and the options you get to complete the quest are either tell him the true culprit or pin it or someone else, either way he kills the person you tell him did it. I didn't wanna do either so I killed him instead. I failed the quest and got his stupid fucking beret stuck in my inventory permanently but I hated him anyway so I was satisfied. I felt like that was an actually engaging moment of RP especially since I got away with it very easily lmao. If I DIDN'T hate him however that would be yet another moment where the game would have shat the bed
I haven't even started on the worldbuilding. It's laughably bad. Again, FNV fans will make fun of Fallout 3 for putting shit from the original game in without any thought into it just because it's an iconic recognizable thing even though FNV didn't mind continuing to use caps, that they intentionally make not make sense. There is a quest where you go to investigate someone "making counterfeit caps". What, pray tell, is a counterfeit cap? Every time I drink a sarsaparilla I add a cap to my inventory. Are you saying that those were all made before the bomb hit and I'm drinking centuries old soda? Or that there is a centralized government unit fabricating sarsaparillas with serialized official caps in the game where the whole plot is about multiple factions fighting to seize control of the land? How do people even take that seriously
And then you get into how the game looks. I'm not talking about the fact that it's visually ugly as sin, which it is, absolutely. I'm talking about the fact that it's been now (as well established) multiple generations of people who have been living here post war and these people have decided that fabricating printing presses to make their comically on-the-nose propaganda posters was a priority but they've never even considered making a single broom. None of the places look actually lived in. There's no names on them. People don't come in and out. There are no identifying items, decorations, anything that would make them even slightly stand out from each other. The house you can sleep and store items in in Goodsprings belongs to Easy Pete, and my girlfriend knew waay more about FNV than I did and she never even noticed that.
The outside world is not any better. Making a game in a desert true to the real life region sounds pretty cool until you start realizing that every single step of your entire map looks indistinguishable from one another. And I still don't think that's justifiable btw. An artist should know how to make shit stand out from one another.
This is just scratching the surface of all my beef with the game btw. As mentioned I didn't get into how Disgustingly American it is (and I use these words very specifically and very deliberately), but also, how annoying and unlikable almost all characters are, how uninspired and lame the dungeons are, how the UI is dogshit and also the Only criticisms FNV fans are ever willing to (begrudgingly) admit which are the bugs (which they either blame on Bethesda or "b-b-but they only had 18 months!" anyway) and the shit gunplay (which they'll argue is good actually bc it's an RPG and also FNV isn't a looter shooter it's a Real Serious Game so you shouldn't even want to shoot your gun anyway and also that's what VATS is for!).
Which also gets me into the point where I mention that the most annoying thing about New Vegas fans is that the way they maintain this self delusion that New Vegas is The Perfect Game is by claiming that anything good it does ever is completely Obsidian's merit but everything bad about it is Bethesda's fault. The FNV crew are all seasoned talented industry professionals which is how they managed to make such a masterpiece but they're also helpless idiot babies who are powerless to stop Bethesda's evil evil reign of terror that forced them to continue to use caps and also make them more incoherent. Essentially, I have more to say about it but I just shot this down sorta haphazardly and I think it's enough to make my point.
In conclusion, FNV is shit
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"They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself"
This Be The Verse by Philip Larkin 1971
I am gen x, raised by boomer parents who hit their thirties in the 1980s. In Thatcher's Britain, when women were told they could have it all and the social mobility of the yuppies and suburban snobs were considered the ideal. It was about wanting more than your parents had, giving your kids better than you had and glass ceilings be damned.
The capitalist dream was being wanked over by people up and down the country. Apart from the miners, steel workers and little kids missing their school milk. They were not so pleased about Thatcher's conservative ideals.
I however was far away from steel mills and coal mines. I was in a London overspill town. Where my parents who came from poverty and working class roots were now living in a detached three, soon to be four bed house in a middle class area, taking holidays abroad and making fists full of money with every house move they made.
Around the dining table homophobic, misogynistic, racist talk was casually bounded about when talking about family, politics, sex and religion. My Dad's views were that Thatcher was right to break the backs of unions and to close the mines. A view I'm definitely opposed to now that I live in what was once a pit village.
Back then though I soaked up the "wisdom" that my parents dispensed like a sponge. I internalised the bigotry well and truly.
I was a latch key kid from year 5 occasionally and everyday from year 7. I spent hours alone daily and as the youngest by 7 years much of my weekends were spent either in the company of my parents at their caravan, visiting friends or on my own. This progressed to me being home alone every other weekend, for four or five days at a time by year 10 and then two weeks in the summer also by year 11 and post 16.
I lived a middle classed life of privilege and had everything I physically needed and many luxuries provided. However I was alone often.
My parents were loving but not validating. I was bullied and when I talked to my parents they pointed out I dressed weird and if I dressed like that people were bound to take the piss.
Compared to many others of my generation I had it easy. I was not hit often and was beaten once. The lack of parental interest in my emotional well-being and not being present took its toll on me. This isn't a woe is me. Its just facts. That's how it was.
My parents were not evil, bad or horrible people. They were raised by people who were raised think children were to be seen and not heard, spare the rod and spoil the child etc. My grandparents were taught to put baby outside and too many cuddles would spoil the child and make a rod for your back.
My parents had and have their own trauma to deal with and boomers as a generation are not good at dealing with feelings. Their own especially.
I don't need to vilify my parents to acknowledge that my needs not being acknowledged or met had and continues to have an impact on me. Acknowledging the impact my parents childhood trauma had and has on them doesn't diminish my own suffering.
I forgive my parents because it helps me and benefits me to do so. I can enjoy my relationship with my parents now better that way.
My parents are flawed. As am I. I'm not a perfect parent either. Larkin's poem is fatalistic but it's not a given that man hands all of his misery to man.
Each generation should break some of the cycles of trauma of the past and not add more cycles of violence into the mix.
My parents broke many of the cycles of generational trauma and violence that exist in my family. They enabled me to continue that trend. My children, if they have kids, will do the same.
We can pass on generational hope by talking to the next generation and owning up to our flaws. Encouraging the next generations to do better. Give them the power to pass on hope not just trauma.
Ling and River Ty
#philip larkin#mental health#gen x#gen xers#1980s#living with cptsd#did system#plurality#actually autistic#plural system#generational trauma#cycles of violence#cycles of abuse#break the cycle#forgiveness#self love
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badheavythoughts vent:
a Facebook mutual w a rly popular account posted asking for reassurance and got several hundred comments of pure praise & love including from people in my FB circle who are all very openly affirming of eachother all the time
I feel...not just left out but embarrassed and hurt by my own walls bc just yesterday I was going to make a post about how unsafe I felt on FB and leave. yet my walls make so much sense given my experiences in life and how fucking treacherous and volatile and untrustworthy most people have turned out to be ESPECIALLY in times of like, calling out abuse or harm, or trying to politically mobilize . I guess part of me wants this simple human need, just to ask for reassurance and recieve it, and part of me believes that is permanently impossible for me bc while I can surface level be nice and sweet, the real me will always be associated with painful truths or inconveniences and frustrations and disappointments. it's family and religious and growing up conservative trauma but I don't know how to move past or through it because the part of me that needs most to be seen and validated is also the meanest most condemnatory voice . it's like my innermost self is stuck in wartime and that MAKES SENSE and RIGHT NOW is also wartime and time of betrayal, division, societal splintering and falseness and violence and abandonment, but it hurts still, wanting to experience peace and be able to simply relax and trust the world will be there tomorrow and be able to let people in bc I'm not attached to some Cause that is greater than myself and which their weakness threatens.
also doesn't help getting to know a new friend with the intent of just hanging out and working on cars and it turns out they left town bc of a horrible situation where everyone turned on them for trying to speak about racism & abuse they experienced. and learning the history of the music scene I was thinking about entering is deeply fucked up and appropriating culture that came from Black people protesting police murders. like what do you fuckin do with that.
ultimately dark humor seems like this wisest cope but idek I hate becoming cynical and further pushing love away out my life
#venting actually helped get this off my chest#i dont like talking to anyone directly about this stuff bc then theyre in the muck with me having to carry it too#and so idk why i think i can personally handle it 24/7#its because i know the people who unload on me are already carrying way too much#but im scared of losing white or privileged friends by being 'negative'#tldr what do we do with all this grief and injustice#i rly need to approach my life and relationships differently#orchid speaks#vent#long post
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𝔁. hello & welcome to the garbage dump ,, i’m cc , your tour guide & today we’ll be looking at duke , the biggest garbage dump of them all . all jokes aside , i am so excited to be here & to be writing duke with you all ! this is really long , so i’m so sorry ! currently , i am out of town , but please like this if you’d like to plot & i’ll come to you ,, & let me know if you’d prefer plotting on d*scord as well !
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#hworths:intro#this is long !! && a lot of information so i'm SORRY#BUT i'm out of town && posting this from mobile so if it fucks up i'm sosrry#AND i'll try to reach out && plot but i'm out of town so sorry for slow replies !
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Pov im trying to do this for a third time anyways take some Chandrelle design hcs bc I always found it weird that Lazarus, who was told he got a lesser punishment, faced death and the horrors of life, while Chandrelle got an annoying roommate in her brain. And also having a demon in your body is bound to have some negative side effects. So! Take these. Sorry for it being a long post but every time i try to add a read more option on mobile it fucks up. Maybe I’ll remember to edit it tonight we’ll see
- Vallamir’s able to cause headaches to basically let her know that he wants a turn on the body. He can make them insanely bad too, to the point where painkillers don't do much. This is specifically for taking full control, he can take half control whenever he wants. Buuuut he's a blood thirsty devil who craves power, so half control isn't good enough for him
- When he does take full control, Chandrelle's gotten them to an empty-ish area, save for some npc's, typically in some sort of disguise, Vallamir goes to town on the npc's until Chandrelle's mana's exhausted, and then Chandrelle gets control again, usually being exhausted/on the verge of passing out, and injured. Only reason Irving hasn't done anything | about this is because then he'd have to admit involvement, which he has too big of an ego for. So, he lets the problem continue
- Vallamir doesn't know the body's limits as well as Chandrelle does, so often times this leads to a fucked up attack or something of the sort that ends up leaving a scar. I don't have a good reference for this yet, but she's got a lot of purple scars all over her body that she covers with makeup
- VI/MITING MENTION: Due to her body not having been designed for possession, her body, often tries to get rid of the unwanted intrusion in the most reasonable way possible: vomiting, '9 times out of 10 all that comes up it blood ' (thanks to the purple blood), and it doesn't help at all, which means it keeps happening
- More of a lore hc than design hc but it counts: Chandrelle had been on her way to the Six Pint Inn injured and exhausted when she ended up collapsing and passing out, being found by Jeremiah on his way back from Waste World. He told Reggie and Bryce, and Bryce brought Chandrelle in. It doesn't make sense if everyone showed up to the inn at nearly the exact same time, so I like to imagine Chandrelle and Bryce were there a few weeks before the others. Bryce has a basic understanding of her situation, and doesn't ask questions about the specifics, helping her whenever she has a headache or other side effect from having Vallamir in her body.
- Another one that ties into my hcs: One of Vallamir’s npc killing runs had made him and Chandrelle just narrowly avoid running into the space trio. The trio had arrived to a bunch of dead npcs, and the only living being was someone (Chandrelle/Vallamir) dressed in a black cloak with a fully masked face. Chandrelle had planned on waiting a little longer before leaving thanks to her exhaustion and injuries, but panicked when she saw the trio. I'm picturing this happening a month at most before she goes to the Six Pint Inn.
#the hex#the hex game#chandrelle stormblaze#chandrelle#vallamir#long post#if you saw this before its bc i had to delete the og one thanks to tumblr fuckin it up#scov.txt#scov.art#finally remembering to add a read more option on desktop!!
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Hello! Best HR wedding night scenes? Particularly books where the heroine is not necessarily a virgin or inexperienced?
Ooooh yeah, you know what? The ironic thing is that I feel like most of the books I've read have them fuck before the wedding night. So I'm not sure hoooow well these will work for you, but I'll try!
A Kingdom of Dreams by Judith McNaught--I remember this having a good wedding night scene, though I forget exactly if they have sex on the actual night of the wedding or a while after. Because he definitely deflowers her WELL before the wedding, and they have a falling out that makes the wedding itself very tense, which I love. So she's not inexperienced when they fuck post-marriage, but he is the only man she has sex with. Anyway, 80s, medieval, a classic, but not without its problematic~ elements (he kidnaps her, with good reason politically, their first time is technically what I would call coercive but also... she's very into it).
Rules for Engaging the Earl by Janna MacGregor--This one just came out and I personally really liked it. But it's again one where it's not really a wedding *night*, it's them consummating the marriage quite a while after the marriage happens. The heroine is experienced (she's a widow--this is her second marriage--and a mother). The hero is her childhood friend who married her to help her out. He also has a disability (chronic injury that causes him mobility issues) and they have to accommodate that during sex, which I found really interesting. And also. Hot. She does! Ride his face.
The Duke I Tempted by Scarlett Peckham--Has a reeeeeally good wedding night from what I remember. The heroine is a virgin, but she and the hero fooled around preeeeeetty extensively before the wedding.
The Viscount and The Vixen by Lorraine Heath--Now THIS SHIT. This is what you may be looking for. She's experienced and the hero marries her out of convenience and they rock each other's world. The reason why they marry is that she shows up having answered an ad his elderly father placed for a wife. She also signed a contract that basically says that if she doesn't marry an heir to the family title she gets a huge payout. The son is like "my dad is old and crazy, this is bullshit, LOOPHOLE I shall marry you" and the dad is all "this is definitely... not what I was planning on happening... riiiiiight".
The Scot Beds His Wife by Kerrigan Byrne--I don't remember the exact wedding night scene, but I do recall the sex scenes in this one being LIT. The heroine is experienced; she's a widow who marries the hero out of convenience after their initial enemies to lovers dynamic. These two throw the fuck DOWN.
The Duchess Deal by Tessa Dare--This is a classic marriage of convenience book that everyone loves, and with good reason. It's kind of fraught because they're only fucking to create an heir... But lol nah. She has had sex before; I believe it's part of her tragic backstory. The actual wedding night may? Be a near miss? It's been a while since I read it, I feel like he started to go to town on her and then was like I CANNOT HANDLE THIS (he's hideously scarred and has issues with intimacy). But when they start fucking they fuuuuuuck. Tessa Dare is such an interesting writer because she's honestly one of the funniest historical romance novelists out there but when people get to fucking it's like "JESUS".
This Scot of Mine by Sophie Jordan--Now this shit. Had. A wedding nIGHT. Like daaaamn. I think the heroine actually was a virgin, but the hero thought she wasn't (for plot reasons which are convoluted but highly entertaining). Just an interesting book, I liked it a lot.
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THIS IS GONNA BE A RANT AND I'M ON MOBILE SO NO READMORE FOR Y'ALL, YE HAVE BEEN WARNED
We managed to go on a week long vacation with my gf's parents (in the house that belonged to her great-grandpa who won it on a game of cards, but that's another story) but god, at what cost
Our cat couldn't come with us on the grounds of my gf's mom being severely allergic, so we were waiting for The Roommate to come back so she could watch over her (and her own cat too), but after two weeks (of a supposedly ONE WEEK TRIP) she finally told us that she was only coming back TWO DAYS AFTER my gf's parents were supposed to be back so no fucking vacation for us I guess?
We wanted at least to spend a weekend away from this house that has been in the middle of a moving since GODDAMN MARCH full of boxes and trash everywhere, so we had everything set up for gf's uncle to come over and feed the cats for two days. Once we finally got to the vacation spot, The Roommate calls us to say that she got someone to watch the cats.
Time to drive ALL THE WAY BACK to relieve the aforementioned uncle from duty and bring our keys to the person who was supposed to watch the cats. Turns out it's this old judgy neighbour lady who was annoyed that we wanted to show her where the cat food and litter were, where we had made a neat pile of clean pet bowls and plates for them, the lists with how much and how many portions to feed them, our phone numbers... and then she got pissy because "[Roommate] said I only had to feed the cats once a day"
EXCUSE ME?
WHY DON'T YOU TRY TO SURVIVE ON ONE MEAL AND A SINGLE GLASS OF WATER A DAY, ELIZABETH?
Anyway we reiterated the importance of getting the cats fed and their water changed twice a day, and hoped The Roommate had chosen a dependable person to take care of the cats
*narrator's voiceover* turns out, in fact, that she hadn't
Roommate calls us two days later to say that the catsitter called her with her panties in a twist because there were maggots in the cat food and she had to toss it all away, that she was calling another lady to pick up the catsitting, that in the end the new lady was going to buy more cat food, and and and
WHOA MCFUCKING THERE, PARDNER
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE HAD TO THROW AWAY OUR CAT'S FOOD"
"It's okay, she handled it"
"But we have enough food, there's a metal box full of wet food and a full bag of kibble"
"It's okay, she handled it"
"We have to come back to town tomorrow to get our covid vaccine shots, if there's the need for more food we can stop by the pet shop on the way"
"It's okay, she handled it"
The gods gifted me with many virtues
Patience is not one of them
And at this point the gf was already restraining me to not yell at the phone, and we agreed on not stopping by on Monday to not stress the cats further with showing up and going away, and trusting the new caretaker, that had already watched over The Roommate's cat before, to not be a complete moron
We overestimated her
We came back today to find the new caretaker, who did not even invite us in for a coffee, all pissy about The Penny having bitten her this morning when "all I did was trying to pet her". She gave us back our keys and we walked into our apartment, where The Penny was already screaming her little lungs out
The apartment
Was
A
Mess.
Penny's litter box hadn't been cleaned, at all, ever since we left
She had one bowl of water instead of the two we had left
The tray we place her bowls on was FILTHY
And I don't know what the fuck was in her kibble bowl, but boy
It was NOT the kibble that we had prepared for the week and left in a glass jar right in front of the tray
We thought that was all, but nope! Walking into the kitchen made the nightmare even worse! The food that we had set aside for the cats, that the lady claimed was gone so fast because it was filling with maggots, was still sealed on the shelf with the little notes on how to portion it attached. We had laid out wet food for a week, of which not even HALF had been used, and The Roommate's cat's kibble didn't even seem to have been touched. Instead, there were two boxes and a bag of SHIT ASS cat food of a brand we had never seen before, full of grains and coloring and other bullshit, not to mention the bag of kibble for fixed cats. WE are responsible pet owners that fixed our baby as soon as she was old enough, but The Roommate refuses to do the same to her cat (that has been constantly in heat for a while, mind you) but feeds her kibble for sterilized cats. If you're wondering if this makes her cat underweight and low energy, well, BINGO! We had finally convinced her to change into better kibble, and this FUCKER comes around and buys this shit under the premise that "poor kitty cat had no food" while there were TWO BAGS IN THE KITCHEN AND PENNY'S JAR IN OUR ROOM
And the bowls. My good lord, the bowls.
Penny eats out of steel bowls that we wash after every meal, and the water one gets washed once a day. The Roommate isn't nearly as organized with her cat's stuff, but she keeps telling everyone who listens for at least ten seconds about how her cat's whiskers are particularly sensitive and therefore she cannot eat out of regular pet bowls (instead she keeps feeding the cat in plastic plates that only get washed once a blue moon but we'll get to that in another ranty post). We specified on the notes taped to the food shelf that she has to be fed on open plate, and what did the asshole do? WELL, OBVIOUSLY NOT THAT. She grabbed a random Penny bowl and filled it with kibble, another random Penny bowl and filled it with water. And completely ignored the tray we had laid out for the other cat, with her little plate and the wider water bowl, putting the "meal" she prepared on the kitchen counter instead
Unlike Penny's litter box, that hadn't seen a scoop since we left the house, the other cat's stuff had been cleaned. Once. And the bag with the litter trash was still open in the bathroom for everyone to see and smell, because obviously, it's not like the cat would maybe just maybe like to have a room that doesn't smell of her own fucking shit, specially if said room is right besides the one where she sleeps
Now it's the following morning and I'm still seething, I cannot believe the fucking audacity. We would happily (okay, maybe not happily, but we definitely would) skip the vacation if there was no one to watch the cats. They're little living creatures that need attention, and we happily provide when we're around. It's not a crime to say "I can't watch over your pets, sorry", it doesn't make you a horrible, rude, inconsiderate person. You know what does, though? ACCEPTING TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR SOMEONE'S PET AND DOING A SHIT ASS JOB OF IT
We laid out everything. We left clean bowls and plenty of kibble and wet food. We left clean scoops to clean their litter boxes. We explained everything and literally left a phone number taped to the food shelf in case they needed us for anything. Instead, the first bitch called The Roommate to complain and the second one just deadass did whatever the fuck she wanted (also I'm convinced that she was overfeeding the cats kibble and not giving them wet food to avoid maggots instead of, you know, sticking around until the cats finished eating and putting the food away when they did. Which means The Penny gained weight in this week, a LOT of it). And ignoring the things we had prepared and explained with so much care to 1) make their lives easier and 2) MAKE IT AS SAFE AND NOT STRESSFUL FOR THE CATS AS POSSIBLE.
We've been home for twelve hours and Penny still hasn't stopped being whiny, which I'm pretty sure is only partly because she is annoyed at us for spending a long time away, but also because she has been bored out of her mind, since these people act like cats are part of the furniture and don't need attention besides some horrible slop thrown into their food bowls. Our cat missed having play time with her wand toys, hanging out with us while we watch tv, eating together (obviously, her having a little bowl of cat food while we eat human food, that we do NOT give her because we aren't stupid), sleeping in the same bed. Of course you're not mandated to do that if you're just hopping by to check on the cats and give them food, but don't act like they're furniture and then get pissy when they try to bite you because they're under stimulated! CATS NEED TO HUNT, and if you don't provide a prey in the form of a toy they're gonna hunt your fucking fingers, and my only regret is that Penpen didn't rip that asshole's hand off
I don't think there is a point to this post, I'm just angry and annoyed and frustrated, but typing everything out in an angry rant is better than yelling and scaring my already sad toebean of a cat, I guess?
Anyway if you read all of this I'm sorry and have a picture of Her Catship The Penny Dreadful
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STMPD Anti-Recommends Bubblegum Crisis Fanfiction: Neo No Armor Against Fate
Okay. Round 2. Alternating between the ones I like and the ones I don't like should be - fun. I think. I hope.
Actually, before we start I'm going to link you, dear reader, to a little something called the Bubblegum Crisis Fanfiction Guide. All its links go up to the year 2000, with most of them linking to what used to be Usenet - rec.arts.anime.creative.bgc was its old sub-sub-sub-heading. And although Usenet is now Google Groups, an ancient, dead thing I suspect will go the way of Yahoo Groups soon enough, as sure as Geocities was stomped out by that foolish little company, and although the updated links from 2009 now make you download gunzip files, which are not exactly in common use anymore, you can just find a better mirror here. It won't work on mobile, though. If one browser forces you to download the gunzips, try another one.
Also, what you're about to bear witness to is a remake of 'No Armor Against Fate' - Hagen wrote that from '94-'97 then rewrote it in 2000, saying he always felt the first version was a first draft. Called it a 'short novel' - Neo clocks in at 440K words, an epic if there ever was one. Said it ignores Crash's developments, which a lot of fanfiction gladly did. It's - well. It is not very good.
Reader, do you think it's weird that I'm doing this? Linking you to a fanfiction that I despise deeply and then gesturing wildly about as to why it's bad? While also refusing to highlight specific passages, instead relying on memory because I feel so strongly about not wanting to read this thing in earnest? I must come off as so tsundere.
But that isn't going to stop me. This is a fic much beloved by the old guard of BGC fanfic writers, and even if the fandom is deader than my late granddad, I still would like to take the opportunity to rip some bandages off and say no, it is not good.
While Neo appears to be about the Knight Sabers in 2034 at first blush, it is not. A great many fanfics from this era are the same - Original Character arrives, fucks shit up, either joins the Knight Sabers or fights them. And like I said in my last post (and in my mini-review of Grand Mal), this creates more misses than hits because it's so hard to swim out from under the Mary Sue impulse, there. And although Hagen may not appear to be walking that path at first, that's only because he's using the trope of the Villain Sue, the Admiral Thrawns of this world, folks who are aggressively competent at committing cold-hearted evil and can send the heroes on the run even if they themselves are technically underlings of the Big Bad.
So: Domino Odette is arguably our protagonist, then. A Sexaroid with the upload of Brian J. Mason's consciousness that Largo was built from, revived by one of Mason's Boomer-Woman bodyguards from OVAs 2 & 3. Only, Largo was crazy and megalomanaical, but Odette has had all those parts sheared off. She's cold, beautiful, 'a mind for business and a body for sin' Hagen says, and patient enough to gain power and to serve GENOM as effectively as possible. She kills the real Domino Odette offscreen, takes her place as an executive - and Quincy finds out immediately, then says 'eh, whatever, we're cool so long as you know who's boss'. And, you know, she does.
So over 440K words and five big story arcs we see Domino subtly dominate just about everyone - Reika Chang comes into town in Arc 2 and Domino makes her feel useless and gets one over on the Chang Group, she gradually wrests power from Kate Madigan, et cetera. Eventually, she uncovers the Sabers' identities effortlessly, brings them in effortlessly, and has them help GENOM deal with some people Largo brainwashed who are attempting to wreck earth via lunar massdriver. The Knight Sabers are destroyed and no one, not even Sylia, seems to bat a fucking eye - actually, she and Domino have a relationship, but then Domino breaks it off and they go their separate ways. Domino continues, as seen in the epilogue, to do evil things to accumulate power for GENOM, and it's all treated as just what happens, what will happen, inevitably.
Look, it doesn't help that Shawn has no idea what exclamation marks are, never uses them, and that his sentences, his paragraph-to-paragraph prose, is dull, dry, exhausting to read in its boringness. Somehow Canada bested the US as North America's superpower -figure that out - and he just mentions that in less than a paragraph and does nothing with it.
It all kind of blurs together, you know? I don't like Domino, but I think Shawn does despite her supposedly being an antihero or grudgingly-respectable villainess, so willingly does he heap capabilities and victories in her court. There's literally a point where the Sabers try to extract someone from GENOM, he appears to be dead, everyone just kind of goes home, and yet Domino and GENOM are somehow able to revive him - not by anything connected to Mason's Largo-oid upload, just, you know, technology. It gets worse when you realize Domino isn't a woman of reasonable age, but looks like this:
Yeah, see the loli on Sylia's back? That's her. She's a fucking loli of the 'ackshually she's an adult so it's okay for me to lewd her' type, decades before anime fans started making fun of themselves for that shit. A body built for sin, too. Jesus Christ, Hagen.
So: Bad Prose. Bad Main Character. What else is up there?
Uh, the Sabers themselves? Nevermind that Hagen packs the world with more original characters in the Sabers' civilian life than strictly necessary, but they all seem to lack, I dunno, loyalty to the cause? As though they're all just waiting to be dunked on - they move on with their lives, move up in the world until the Sabers can't be reliably sustained. Which is annoying enough that the threat of GENOM isn't such a big deal as it would be in other, better fic, but then we get Devon Okami, who is just... ugh.
Devon is a co-founder of GENOM, second only to Quincy in his clout. Linna ends up dating him even though he's like thirty years her senior, and ends up taking her in when GENOM puts out the call (oops, guess you shouldn't have trusted him, eh). Also he's Priss's grandfather or something, so Priss is a lost girl who could be incredibly wealthy and doesn't know it. Which is a contrivance decades-older fiction has used before, and was stupid then, and is stupid now.
Really, the whole story's theme seems to be that megacorporations like GENOM cannot be stopped, not by normal people or by superheroes like the Sabers. In the end, Sylia has to essentially receive the right to make her own Boomer-building company because Quincy feels like it. She moves on with her life - changes the locks to get rid of the other three Sabers, who move on with their lives as well, as if the friendship they had meant nothing to any party.
"GENOM has lead the way, and we will follow, and we will be the better for it," an editorial in the epilogue (not found in this particular instance of Neo), says. And that's the thing. GENOM cannot be destroyed by the Sabers - Sylia literally says 'its time will come' but what will happen in the interim? Domino's power, her endless string of hostile takeovers and assassinations, remains unstopped - is , again, necessary. "GENOM with a purpose is a useful organism," Domino says, and "without a purpose it is cancer", but that's all in the context of Quincy giving it purpose.
It's... it's really based off of that one monologue by Sylia in OVA 8, isn't it? Where GENOM can't be destroyed because it does occasionally do good for the world? It's a very 90's 'neoliberal' ethos, this. The corporations have won, they'll develop new hopefully-beneficial technology, all we have to do is ride the rainbow and accept they'll do evil things, too, and live with that. It's the End Of History, forty years in the future. Worse still is that it makes Sylia say that her crusade against GENOM was all revenge and therefore was bad because 'revenge bad' is the message of a lot of core BGC. That any attempt to fight the system is inevitably personal and therefore childish is - an opinion I cannot agree with.
Boy. God. Damn. Maybe if you read Neo not knowing that it would build to this political bootlicking sort of stance you might enjoy it. But I can't, not anymore. I'm too far gone, folks. I've read my David Graeber and I tell you that megacorps hold back technology being used for liberating purposes by simply crimping all of technological devlopment in the first place. I will not let an evil loli tell me that some of us may die, but that is a sacrifice she is willing to make.
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Firelight
Gerlion Rated T and up for minor swearing and minor nudity.
Also, I'm sorry I'm bad at technology and I've only got mobile and they updated it and I dont know/can't figure out how to put a read more break in.
Geralt and Dandelion reunite after a long time apart. Its fluff, complete fluff. They're so soft with one another.
This lovely piece was inspired by art created by @johix with permission I'll figure out how to link it. But I recommend checking out all the art.
It had been nearly nine months since he last saw his bard. It wasn't unusual for their paths to cross and diverge like the threads of a tapestry twinning around one another; close but never consistantly together. Dandelion was often called away to court, to Oxenfurt, or some festivity or other and he always went where he was wanted. Geralt never stopped him; though he often wanted to reach out, grab a slender and deceivingly muscled arm and say, "stay you're wanted here more than they want you anywhere else." But his lips stayed stubbornly shut as he watched the blond ride away on his muleish stead. He would turn his back and tend to the nearest contracts he could find. At first he'd been glad for the others departures, now they left him aching in a way he feared to define. So he would focus on his work, on the Path and push all thoughts of the Bard away until he was alone with inky night and moonlight for company. Then and only then he would wonder what his friend was doing.
This year he had been eager to get back on the path and left the keep far to early. The others had warned him but he was restless, concerned even. He hadn't heard anything from the bard in the three months leading into winter. It was May now. Summer had yet to grace the continent and snow continued to stick stubbornly to her. He hadn't made it to town, and that was okay. He was freezing but he'd dealt with worse. He stoked the fire up and leaned against the tree behind him. He flexed his fingers in his gloves to keep them from growing stiff.
He knows he should have found a cave or some other shelter but he'd been loath to leave the road. The more time he spent on it the more likely he was to run into Dandelion. Instead he began to meditate and wrinkled his nose at the scent of rain permeating the air. He hoped it would hold off until the morrow. He didn't mind rain when he didn't need to be out in the path. Meaning, he liked the rain if he was cooped up in an inn with Dandelion. He always tried to keep him from getting sick, despite the need to be on the oath. But tonight he wasn't in an inn with Dandelion. He was in forest clearing bustled against a dry spot beneath a tree with snow and ice all around him. The thought of being at a warm inn with his musician made his chest ache desperately. Slowly he managed to meditate. Meditation turned to sleep as soon as he chose to lie down in his bed roll. Roach shifted to his left to keep herself warm but never went far.
He woke cold and stiff to blue grey light. If he were a normal human and not so fucking cold he'd have probably rolled over and gone back to sleep. But instead he was a witcher and rain scented heavier on the air. That alone is enough to incline him to get a move on with the day. Carefully he stood rolling his joints, they cracked and popped at the movement sore from the last hunt and the cold. He breathed through his nose and set about feeding Roach. Then he turned to begin gathering his supplies. His heart jumped in his chest at the sound of distant music. There was a troupe, if the noise was anything to go by, traveling up the road. They were a ways off and he couldn't make out individual instruments yet. The music was to far away. Still, he forced himself to slow and methodically work through packing everything up at a more subdued pace. He had no way of knowing if Dandelion was with them, but he hoped he was. It was safer for the trabedour to travel with a group and more to his and the bards liking as well.
Satisfied that the group would catch up if he kept Roach to a walk he rejoined the road. This way he would be far enough ahead not to bother them, and close enough that if Dandelion was with them he'd be able to see him. He kept Roach at a careful pace and she seemed content to meander. His coin purse was currently full at his side, and the season was early. He could dally a little. Still he wondered at the futility. It would have been better to write to Oxenfurt or go himself. They would know where to find the poet. He listened as the music drew closer. There were several lutist. Which he could say wasn't uncommon as it was one of the preferred bardic instruments. He strained his ears none the less, Toruviels lute had a specific sound and he was well aquanited with it. He smiled and forced himself not to turn back towards the musicians. He was a witcher, he'd scare them off. He slowed Roach as much as possible. And then he heard it, the stutter of a chord gone off tune and forgotten. They way it would if he complimented the musician while he was playing. He always made the best faces.
"Geralt." He kept Roach moving, gripping the reigns hard in anticipation. Then he heard the murmurs of surprise as Dandelion ran ahead and called out,
"Geralt of Rivia, you gigantic oaf, I know you can hear me!" The indignant tone of Dandelions voice pulled him over the edge of his little game and he stopped. His heart beating a little faster, a little stronger than it ought, as it always did around the poet. He dismounted his horse and held out one hand to give or receive a hug. Something he was growing accustomed to doing with Dandelion. The bard rushed forward unabashed and wrapped his arms, one hand still holding his lute firmly, around Geralt and squeezing with all his strength. Geralt returned the favor, one armed, the other still outstretched to hold Roaches reigns.
The hug lasted longer than it ought to have, and then some. When they finally came apart Geralt raised an eyebrow and absently reached a hand out to brush shoulder length blond curls. He smiled softly amusement curling in his stomach with something far more dangerous.
"What are these?"
"Curls Geralt. You've seen them before."
Dandelion notes with brightness in his eyes. Geralt is being very tender he thinks as he flicks his eyes to the hand still in his hair.
"I know. But I've never seen them on you before. Nobles. Whores. The like."
Geralt says simply and something like sadness tugs at Dandelions heart. He was prepared with a quip but it slips from his tongue and instead he whispers out a breathy,
"You don't like it."
He looks to the ground, body language changing. Geralt smells the acrid scent of disappointment on him almost instantly. Even if he hadn't he'd have realized his mistake. He brushes his hand down and catches the lutists chin pushing it up and then dropping his hand to his shoulder. They have an audience.
"That's not what I said, nor is it what I meant, Dandelion. Introduce us?"
The poets meets his eyes and blinks. Right. Okay. He smiles,
"There isn't much to be said in introduction. I only met this lovely group last night. I don't even know all their names yet."
A short brunette in bright colors hands him his geldings reigns. They know he won't be continuing with them.
The brunette nods to Geralt and speaks softly,
"It was a pleasure to play music with you master Dandelion."
And with that the group turns down the path to the right. Geralt must have worked hard to time it so he'd be seen before they had a chance to turn down the other path. Though Dandelion would not have gone that way anyways.
Geralt looks him up and down again and and he flushes under the scrutiny and then speaks through a genuine smile.
"What is that on your face?"
He nearly reaches up to brush his hands against the white beard. He refrains barely as Geralt does it himself. He's fairly certain the man had forgotten all about it.
"Left the keep early this year. It's warmer like this."
Then he watches Geralt glare at the sky and take a deep breath.
"You'll want to put that in it's case. Smells like rain."
Dandelion moves quickly to follow his instruction and nearly jumps when thunder claps across the mountain range. He shivers and mounts Pegasus.
"Where to?"
Gerlat hesitates a moment. He shouldn't be caught off gaurde but he is. It's always this easy with Dandelion. Easy in a way it has never been with Yennefer, or with anyone else. It's natural almost to the point of being dangerous. He knows that Dandelions will follow him anywhere. Hen wont ask questions, but will walk beside him loyal and true.It eases something in his heart to see the other man beside him again. He settles something in him the way Yennefer never did. He realizes Dandelion is looking at him with raised eyebrows and a cheeky grin.
"That glad to see me?"
He swallows and clears his throat ignoring the second question.
"There is a village up ahead. If you're mule moves fast enough we may make it before the rain gets bad."
Dandelion laughs and the remnants of tension in him depart. They ride in companionable silence for a while before he asks,
"What are you doing all the way out here? The roads and weather are hardly fit for traveling, even for me."
He glances over and meets pools of bright blue sky. The poet is quiet for some time and it's only broken by the wind picking up around them and whispering through the woods as boughs bend beneath its force. The rain comes next and Dandelion finally speaks. Geralt remains facing forward carefully neutral.
"I hadn't heard anything about you in months. I had no idea if you even made it to Kaer Morhen. So, I thought to myself, Dandelion if you get closer to the keep you might hear something. Now, here I am hoping to find out if you're still alive. Figured being close would increase my chances of running into you too. And I suppose it worked."
He seems almost embarrassed Geralt thinks. Only embarrassment isn't an emotion he's ever seen on the musician. He was shameless and full of mirth. He felt deeply, certainly had had bouts of sorrow at times. But embarrassment… no this had to be something else. He seemed sombre. Almost sad as he fell into a silence that meant his thoughts had hold of him. Geralt shook his head, grateful when Dandelion did not ask him the same. Unfortunately he fell unusually quiet, normally he would grumble or speak his thoughts allowed. The silence upset him and he could sense the poet growing morose and gave him some space until he noted the bards teeth chattering. He looked miserable, lips pushed together to keep his teeth from chattering, curls gone limp with the rain. His fingers were probably just as cold as Geralts own. He slowed Roach.
"Wheres your cloak?"
" Forgot to pull it out of my bag."
He laughs. Gerlat could kick himself for not reminding the bard, but then, he was a grown man. Still the thought of him sick…. Absently he removed his outer cloak and handed it over. It wouldn't do to much now but it was a kind gesture none-the-less.
"Geralt, no sense in both of us being cold."
He simply cast Dandelion a withering glance and the trabedour smiled as he took the cloak. Geralt returned to his normal speed and missed the way Dandelion smiled into the fur and breathed deep. He almost missed the whispered "thank you" as well, but the wind carried it to his ears and he held it close.
By the time they passed through the archway of a sleepy little village he didn't know the name of, Dandelion was shivering from the cold. It had started as a thunderstorm and quickly devolved into a snowstorm. And while he had already been soaked through he was grateful for Gerlat's cloak around him. Though he was sorry too. He knew how cold Geralt often got, likely from having a slower heart rate.
They made their way with practiced ease to the local inn. Dandelion watched in slight awe as Geralt made arrangements with the matron. She had known his name, no one had so much as even batted an eye at the witcher. He shivered and tried to focus on keeping his feet warm.
The matron knew the witchers who passed this way every spring and winter. She'd been quiet young when Geralt had first met her, now she was a mother who had aged kindly.
"I'll have the boys tend to your horses. Jason's getting a fire going for you. He'll bring up some more wood in a bit."
As if on queue, summoned by his name, he came around the corner of the desk and nodded at her before heading out the back door. She smiled and handed Geralt the key. "Go on go get warm before your friend catches a cold "
"Thank you."
He handed the key to Jaskier who moved quickly forgetting his bag in his rush to get himself and his lute dry. Geralt smiled a toothy grin and shook his head shifting his own bags to gather Dandelions.
"Oh dear, I had better ask, will you be going out for supper or shall I bring some up when it's ready?"
" If it wouldn't be any trouble. And maybe a demijohn?"
She winked,
"Vodka?"
"Please."
"No problem, off you go. He's waiting."
He would have blushed if his biology allowed it. There was something about the way she looked between them and spoke that made Geralt feel vulnerable.
He followed damp footprints to their room and stepped in the door left slightly ajar. Dandelion had already hung his cloak up and stripped out of his shirt and boots, and was currently putting his lute on the chair a good distance from the fire to draw out any moisture.
"Finally Geralt! I was half naked before I realized I forgot them. And the fire was so nice I couldn't bare to go back and get them. What kept you?"
He stepped back as the bard reached for his bags and started removing his armor. He shook his head,
"Supper arrangments." He says simply.
"Then were staying in?"
"Yes."
"Excellent!" He watches the musician swap a change of clothes for his night clothes.
Although he was fairly dry beneath his armor and cloak Geralt was freezing. He removed his boots and looked up only to freeze. Breath stilling in his lungs as he swallowed tightly. He followed bare leg, muscled and lean, from floor to hip, over the curve of the poets ass, over the dip of his back and up the curve of his shoulders. He let out a breath and pointedly averted his eyes. His armor needed cleaning, he was sure of it.
He hadn't thought it possible to make Geralt uncomfortable at this point. But what he'd seen out of the corner of his eye told him otherwise. Though he'd only caught him looking away. He could have looked for a moment, or minutes he'd never know. Slowly he dressed in his sleepwear. The fire had been nice against his skin and he hadn't wanted to dress damp. You got sick when you did that. He dried his hair out with a thin towel from his pack. He'd need to replace that. He made his way back over to Geralt as he pulled his shirt on.
"The fire is nice." He says gently as he sits beside him. Geralt looks up at him from his armor and nods. They stare at one another for a moment then Geralt speaks.
"You seemed upset earlier. Was it just the weather?"
Oh. He wants to lie but he would never. Besides, Geralt can read him like a book, never mind the enhanced witcher senses. He'd never stand a chance. Instead he looks away, towards the crackling fire and let's silence reign while he thinks through what he means to say. The truth but not all of it. Just enough. The only noise is the wind rustling the shutters against the walls and the gentle crackling of the fire.
"I wouldn't know." He starts voice gentle and far away. "If you died. I wouldn't know. And if I ever did find out it would be from some rumor in a tavern passed through far to many drunken mouths to hold much truth. There's no one to tell me if you die while I'm not there Geralt. And that… scares me a little. I worry for you and it would pain me to never know or to find out so late. And know that I'll never know the truth of what happened." He looks to the witcher now and meets molten sun with ocean depths.
"But," he continues, "we're both here now. No sense in dwelling on something like that."
Something shifts in Geralts face like he wants to argue. He's already working out some way to change the topic so he doesn't give himself away. He loves the man next to him that's why it scares him. The knock comes loudly from the door and he moves to open it grateful for the matrons timing.
He smiles and opens the door wide.
"Thank you." He says to both the matron and her husband as he drops wood near the hearth and she places supper and a flagon of something on the table.
"No problem. Enjoy, its roast." With that they leave them to their dinner and Dandelion is grateful for the distraction. Geralt joins him at the table but neither speaks.
Geralt presses his lips together. What Dandelion said nearly ruins his appetite. He won't press but it makes his gut twist to think of the pain his friend would be in. The agony of not knowing. Though those same thoughts run through his head when he doesn't keep them in check. He knows if anything happens to his poet there would be hell to pay. He shakes his head and focuses instead on eating. The quiet of the room is unsetteling. They should be talking, reminiscing about their time apart and it's almost grating that he can't move past the last conversation. But then Dandelion uncorks the vodka and pours them both a generous amount. He hands a cup to Geralt and raises his own.
"To reunions." Geralt smiles and clinks their glasses together. Grateful that they're falling into their rhythm.
Dandelion asks how the winter went and Geralt sighs. It's always the same. His brothers are great but he always find himself missing his poets softness and sound. He wont say this of course. He wont say he lays awake wondering what he's doing in Oxenfurt. Who hes with. If hes happy. He won't admit that loneliness creeps in on him when they're apart, that he misses pulling the bard close to his chest when they sleep.
Instead he tells him that they repaired the battlements, the walls, the stables. That Vesimir had made them clean and catalogue the library. The library he knows Dandelion wants to see and would have to be forcably removed from and he knows that the poets only joking when he says "you'll have to show me one day" but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to grab him by the wrist and take him there. He talks of training and running the trail with Lambert and Eskel like they did when they were young.
"And what of you Dandelion? How was your winter?" The musician smiles and takes a drink straight from the bottle.
"Boring Geralt. This bach of students don't care. They have no heart and less inspiration. It's like they're only there to please their parents or something. To mingle. They don't care about learning what the truth behind folk tales are or why they're wrong. The composition courses are a bit better I suppose," another drink, his face flushes pink in the flickering light of the fire," at least they can make things rhyme even if it's meaningless. And it was so lonely Geralt. I missed traveling. I know it's better for my purse, retirement, and the like to work straight in the winter and travel in the summer months but honestly, I regret it this winter. Not that I could have traveled much alone."
He's rambeling now and Geralt loves it. Loves listening to him talk about nothing and everything. The way his face goes soft and his eyes grow bright and he can only be described as whimsical. How his voice dances always lulling and pulling him in. He takes the vodka and drinks a long pull from the bottle, he shouldn't let Dandelion have much more if they want to start out early. Though if the storm keeps up they might be stuck a few days.
He acknowledges the ard with a soft hum as he gets up to stoke the fire and add a few logs. It's gotten late. He makes his way back towards the bed and brushes his hand down the poets shoulder and his arm before passing on. He crawls to the far side of the bed and waits wondering if he'll understand the invitation and join him or take the other bed. He hopes that the Dandelion understood the gesture. The poet stands and looks at him.
Dandelion takes a breath to steady himself. There are two beds and he desperately wants to join Geralt, help him stay warm, bury his face against his chest, breath in leather and earth and musk. He blinks looking at Geralt for any sign of what he's supposed to do and just as its growing uncomfortable long in his slightly tipsy mind Geralt reaches out and hand and he knows he's wanted.
"It's cold."
Geralt offers quietly as he shuffles under the blankets next to him. He needn't have bothered Dandelion doesn't need an excuse. But if it makes him feel more comfortable he'll roll with it even as it feel like lead on his chest. He rolls onto his side and buries his face into the blankets between them. The bed is small for two but they'll make it work, they always do. He watches as Geralt lounges beside him thinking about how beautiful he is with shadows dancing against his skin as hes bathed in firelight alone. Then Geralt sits up so abruptly and swallows so that Dandelion joins him instantly.
"Is everything alright Geralt?"
"Yes. Just. Don't move."
And he laughs gently, breath coming out calmer now. He catches the way Geralts throat bobs as he swallows and the shadows dance across his throat. He both wants to kiss it and compose about it. Instead he shifts a leg underneath himself and leaves the other outstretched. He's not sure what's going on but he will do as told. But then Geralt moves and lays his head in his lap and when he looks down comatose pools of cooling gold meet his own cobalt depths and his breath catches. He stutters in another one and then smiles fondly. Geralts eyes flutter shut and he can't help himself as he places a hand in white hair and runs his fingers through it. He's certain it's been months since he had physical contact that wasn't violent.
He doesn't hum or sing. This moment is precious. It will be locked in his heart, witnessed only by the firefight and remembered in the lonliest of winter nights. But then Geralt looks at him again so he smiles softly and starts to open his mouth but theres a hand in limp gold locks by his face and he stops. Heart rate picking up, but not in fear and distantly he knows Geralt knows the ways he's affecting him. But he makes no move to pull away even as the calloused hand in his hair moves up to cup the back of his head and pull him down. Instead he closes his eyes and smiles. The kiss is everything he imagined it would be and then some.
#geraskier#gerlion#firelight#fanfiction#was going to add a read more link but im bad at technology and the update is making it worse#fluff#domestic fluff#soft bois#romance
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