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therosefrontier · 3 years

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Whumptober Day 5

No. 5 - I’VE GOT RED IN MY LEDGER

betrayal | misunderstanding | broken nose

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Genshin Impact | Zhongli and his memories

(crossposted to AO3)

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“I met with Azhdaha again yesterday.”

Zhongli started his story while seated on an old stone platform in Guili Plains, a low crumbling stone wall behind him, an ancient tablet the only company by his side. “Virtue grows tall like a tree, though there be shade it will flourish forever,” the dome-shaped tablet read. At times like these, he often wondered at what all the author of those words had in mind when she wrote that.

“I…assumed this would happen, one day. Elemental spirits are nigh immortal beings, and it would be foolishness to assume that a sealed spirit won’t some day find their way out.” Zhongli paused for a moment, his words feeling heavy on his tongue, as if someone really were here that he had to explain this too. “He…left, of his own accord,” he finally said. “His spirit is once again sealed in the mountain. Although, we may very well meet again. I simply might dare to hope that next time, it would be under better circumstances.”

“My life is nigh on eternal. I will go on with the infinite flow of time. And you, Morax... You too will live for many a day to come.”

But Azhdaha would never again be free. This…this was their contract.

Zhongli looked down at his hands and at the ground, the events of many centuries earlier being all too clear in his mind. The events of yesterday were but a brief addendum to what already happened. Azhdaha’s roar of rage and pain, his accusations of treachery, the underlying grim reality of knowing that all of Liyue could be in danger if he didn’t end this here and now…all of that happened, already. Yesterday, Azhdaha was divided, his rage and his benevolence split into two beings. The first time they fought, the benevolent and wise Azhdaha that he once knew was nowhere to be found.

“I never thought I’d be able to speak with him again, like he was. Well, it wasn’t his form necessarily: his consciousness had possessed a random human, but still, once his memories were regained, the words and the voice were most certainly his.” Zhongli smiled weakly. “I must admit, that despite the inherent peril of the situation leading up to this meeting, I was glad. To see him, that is. It…was as if he were still alive.”

“Rex Lapis, we are at your command,” Moon Carver assured him with great gravity, he and Mountain Shaper and the other watching the approach of the rampaging earth dragon with a steeled gaze, ready to fight.

Rex Lapis hesitated only for a moment. Only for a moment did he allow his heart to twist in pain, did he allow his eyes to lose their vivacity as he looked down from the sky at the dragon who cursed his name through his own unfathomable anguish. There was no solution, he knew. Erosion was something that could not be reversed. But he didn’t want to believe it. Not for Azhdaha. He didn’t want to lose him, too.

“We will lure him into the cave underneath the mountain. Follow my lead.”

Zhongli found Azhdaha as a spirit sealed deep in the earth, a simple but unique rock without sight or motion. His stirrings had been the cause of many earthquakes and tremblings, so Zhongli thought it fit to draw the spirit of stone up from the earth and grant his wish, to give him a chance to be free in the world outside. They made a contract, then. Zhongli always made a contract, with those he invited to join him. There was only one for him for which such an agreement was delayed…only because at first, he did not know what their partnership was even to be called. It was one of many ways that Guizhong confused him.

But for the great stone dragon, their agreement was clear. If Azhdaha ever endangered Liyue and brought ruin to order, he would once again be sealed in the dark.

Zhongli always kept true to his contracts.

“Come, I wish to show you something,” Morax beckoned him with a slight smile, bringing his friend up to a ledge overlooking the waters, the sun setting over the mountains in the distance and washing the sky with color.

“What is this?” Azhdaha asked in a deep and booming voice, although its powerful aura was perhaps mitigated by the way he spoke with the curiosity of a child. “I have seen this water before; now it is different?”

Morax chuckled softly. “Take a moment and have a look.”

Azhdaha came up over the ledge with thundering steps. “Your sun looks different. The color has changed. Is it nearing death?”

“No, no, not at all,” Morax explained with a slight touch of amusement. “This is a sunset. The sun will soon disappear over the mountains. You asked last night why the light leaves the sky in such a way. So, I thought I’d bring you here to watch. Of course, the motion of the sun can be observed anywhere, but it carries a different effect, in some locations. The sun will change its color now, but after it disappears, it will come back the next day just as it was before.”

Azhdaha hummed in acknowledgement, then plopping down onto the grass with a shaking of the earth. “So now, we sit and watch?”

“Yes, I say we shall.”

“Morax, how do I look? Unimposing? Like a true human?”

“You look very well,” Morax agreed with a smile. It was in an elemental spirit’s nature to be able to change shape and form, but this was Azhdaha’s first time doing it on his own. His human form wasn’t exactly all that ‘unimposing,’ being that of a man quite large and broad-shouldered, but he looked enough like a human, at least.

“Mm, that is acceptable.” Azhdaha put his newfound fists on his hips and looked down at the Guili Assembly plaza down below. “It is time to interweave myself with humankind. I wish to first try the foods that people keep telling me about. I do not see the appeal of this ‘Grilled Ticker Fish’ that Pervases speaks of, as it is merely a single fish, but I wish to obtain this first, so that I may give him my full opinion!”

“Sounds like a suitable plan,” Morax agreed with a nod. “Then, let’s not keep our human and adepti friends waiting.”

Zhongli remembered his form then, strong with a youthful wonder that wizened into ancient wisdom over the passage of time. It was so startingly unlike the form half of him took yesterday, of a child with a bitter glare in her eyes.

“So here lies the wisdom of the gods? Destroy all deemed redundant, enlist tyrants to ravage the wilderness!” Jiu mocked in her (his) fury.

Zhongli had a contract to keep. He had to seal Azhdaha away. There was no choice.

“Is once not enough!? You would forsake me again!?”

It wasn’t what he wanted. But was there…really nothing he could have done? If he had stopped the humans from mining in the Chasm, if he had noticed the change in Azhdaha, if he had just taken the time out of his duties to pay him a visit, then maybe…

“Erosion ground Azhdaha’s consciousness into oblivion. Slowly, he forgot the face of his old friend, and his memories of defending Liyue Harbor disintegrated,” Azhdaha in Kun Jun’s vessel recounted his own story with a faint smile of regret.

Zhongli couldn’t stop erosion.

And yet…he mourned what came to pass.

Zhongli had known, for a very long time, that he would never again be able to mourn as a mortal would. Azhdaha was far from the only one he has lost to time and conflict. The name he called him, “Morax,” was a stark reminder of this, that name which he had walked away from a long time ago but never truly shed. Morax was a god of war, a slayer of thousands. Morax had for a long, long time grown used to the bloodshed that was Liyue’s reality, as god fought against god in the Archon War and sacrificed hoards of soldiers as pawns. Morax felt no disgust or horror when he walked through a battlefield after the fight was over, stepping over bodies and walking through pools of blood and entrails as he coldly assessed the damage done.

In some ways, Rex Lapis was no different. For that matter, neither was Zhongli. Although his thoughts on war had changed—he would avoid it through the employment of contracts and words, if at all possible—he could never feel the same revulsion towards death and bloodshed as a human would.

Rex Lapis saw many scores of yaksha and other adepti swear fealty to him over the millennia. They would give him their loyalty, and he would make a contract with them, and he would know, because of how many times it had happened already, that they might give their lives in his service. They might fall to the evil that plagues the land in battle, or they may be consumed by the very filth they faithfully eradicated. Rex Lapis did not consider their deaths to be meaningless, nor did he ever wish to sacrifice his subjects as a pawn of war, but…he might have accepted, at some point long ago, that such deaths were inevitable and necessary.

He could not mourn as a human would—or rather, as a human without authority might. A war god had to know, lest he be blind, that he was sending his people to possible death.

He bore that weight, and he accepted that responsibility.

But in that responsibility…what did that mean for Azhdaha? Whose soul was crushed not by the many battles they fought together, but by the erosion of the earth itself?

He was sealed forever by Zhongli’s own hands. That was their contract. That was justice.

He always kept his contracts. No matter the price, no matter what he had to do…even if it was a pact paid in blood with Celestia, he did what he must for the sake of Liyue…

But was it true? Did Zhongli, in that near-final meeting, betray Azhdaha?

“I did what I must,” he spoke again to the stone tablet, cold and motionless despite the warm words inscribed upon it. “Virtue grows tall like a tree, though there be shade it will flourish forever.” But how did one define what “virtue” meant? How much of this “shade” was acceptable? This increasing debt, made in blood…

“His anger, however, does seem justified, in a certain way.”

“Guizhong?” He looked up, a small drop forming in his near-human eyes. “Did I do the right thing?”

#whumptober2021 #no.5 #betrayal #fandom #fic #genshin impact #zhongli #zhongli quest #musings #azhdaha #zhongli has sadness

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yeenybeanies · 4 years

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Dreaming of Snakes

i haven’t written anything in a Hot Minute, so i think i need some soft cowboy to get me back in the groove :>

red dead redemption | arthur morgan & devin clarke ( oc )

1868 words

no warnings

reblogs > likes!! feel free to leave comments in the tags!!

The pitter-patter of rain on canvas should be soothing, but instead it’s a constant reminder of an unfortunate situation. Rain isn’t usually a problem so much as an inconvenience, but this rain—this rain has been droning on for three days. There hasn’t been a break yet, and it doesn’t look like there will be one anytime soon. Devin sighs, chin resting on their propped-up palm and eyes staring unfocused into the middle distance. They came to Arthur on the second day of the downpour. What a sight that had to have been.

“ Arthur—- “ the borrower croaked, peeking out from their hiding spot. Arthur’s boots squelching in the mud announced his arrival.

“ Devin? ” Surprised, he quickly glanced behind him to check for any prying eyes and ears near his tent, then turned his attention down to the voice. they hadn’t visited in a few days, and he was starting to worry. Seeing them like this—clothes and hair dripping wet—didn’t alleviate that worry any. Arthur sat down on his bed, acting natural for the sake of discretion, but his eyes were filled with concern.

Devin shuffled out from their cover, awkward, uneasy, absolutely soaked. “ I, uh . . . my home flooded because of the rain, and I . . .. ” they trailed off, feeling embarrassed. A borrower was supposed to take care of themself, no matter what. Yet, here Devin was, coming to a human ( again ) for help.

Arthur patted the spot next to him on his bed, inviting the borrower closer. Devin did not hesitate, quickly scurrying over and up to join him.

“ You can stay here if ya need—if that’s what you’re askin’. ” His smile was warm. It was always warm, comforting. His hand settled lightly behind them, the radiating heat from his palm quickly seeping into Devin’s soaked form.

They were asking, though they didn’t like to. Devin’s shoulders drooped in time with their heavy sigh. “ Thank you, Arthur. ”

“ Not a problem, Miss Devin. ”

What a sight then and what a sight now. Devin hasn’t been able to move much since coming here. They’ve occupied themself with staring forlornly into the rain, and hiding whenever any of the camp’s many members comes within twenty feet of Arthur’s tent. The downpour has subdued some of the camp activity, but not all of it.

More embarrassing than needing the shelter, though, is Devin’s inability to ( safely ) gather food and materials for themself. They were willing to venture out in an attempt to save some semblance of their pride, but Arthur has been pretty insistent from the get-go that they stay here. So here they stay, displeased, but realistic about the situation. In rains like these, there’s a high likelihood that they could get swept away. It’s hard not to feel a bit like a pet, though they know that Arthur would never think of them as such.

The day is long. With nothing to do, it feels longer. Charles visits at some point to check up on Devin, which is nice, but he can’t stay too long lest he draw attention. Nope, Devin is alone and bored out of their mind for most of their day. They aren’t used to being so . . . inactive. With the rain droning on and nothing to occupy their time, Devin’s thoughts begin to wander. Dark things come to the forefront—things they avoided thinking about for years.

Arthur isn’t the first person they put their trust into. He’s the second. The first was a vile man. He always wore an ugly snakeskin hat. He started out nice, gentle, kind—a bit like Arthur—-

No. Devin shakes their head. Arthur isn’t like that man. Arthur wouldn’t trap them and keep them, show them off to his friends like some exotic marvel. He wouldn’t.

Devin huffs. They don’t want to think on their past traumas with the Snakeskin Man.

By the time Arthur returns, the sun has sunk well beyond the horizon. It’s dark, and Devin is nowhere to be seen. The gunslinger calls out softly. No response. Odd. He checks a few of their common hiding spots. Nothing. Concerning. Arthur isn’t one to worry over nothing; normally he’d just assume the borrower ran off to handle their own daily affairs, but with the rain still pouring and all the flooding he’d seen on the ground today . . . well, he’d really rather find them inside the tent.

“ Devin? Where’re ya at? I brought ya somethin’ to eat . . ..” He’d left some food out for them to snack on during the day, but he still thought it’d be nice to bring back some treats.

After checking a few more hiding spots, Arthur lets out a sigh and sits down onto his bed. He’s ready to wrestle with his growing worry, but a squeak to his left draws the man’s attention. Just barely visible is a small lump under the blanket––a small, twitching lump. Arthur gingerly lifts the blanket up and peers underneath. Much to his relief, he can see Devin’s little form curled up, their back to him. They are indeed twitching and mumbling though, which is unusual. It looks like they’re dreaming, and it doesn’t look particularly pleasant.

“ Miss Devin? ” Gentle fingers reach forth and brush the borrower’s back, giving them a tiny nudge. That dream has a tight hold, though; Arthur chews the inside of his lip and tries again, this time giving them a little shake at the shoulder.

The day’s boredom took its toll on the borrower: those thoughts of the Snakeskin Man have crept their way into their dreams, poisoning their sleep with unpleasant memories. His careless hands shake them, his distorted voice yells at them, and when they open their eyes, they swear it’s really him in front of them. He’s found them somehow!

They scream. They flail and they thrash and they scramble back from the hand, bleary eyes staring fearfully up at the bean hovering over them. That hand retreats quickly, very unlike the Snakeskin Man. Devin blinks and spares a moment to rub their eyes, clearing their vision enough to see that it’s not him, but Arthur–––

Oh, Arthur . . ..

The gunslinger stares down at them, eyes wide with shock at their outburst. In the coming seconds, that shock turns to hurt. Devin feels guilt rush over them quickly, but they’re still trying to recover from their fright.

It was just a nightmare. This is Arthur!

“ I–I–– ” they stammer over the beginnings of a sentence, but Arthur cuts them off.

“ I’m–I don’t mean to frighten you, Miss Devin . . .. I was just tryin’a make sure you were okay. Here––I can––– ” he folds the blanket down and scoots back a ways, giving Devin some space.

“ No—Arthur, it’s not—just give me a minute, okay? ” He nods, but there is uncertainty on his face. Devin’s heart would be broken, but it’s too busy pounding against their rib cage. They breathe in and out, fighting the adrenaline.

Slowly but surely, the worst of the fright ebbs away, though Devin is still quite shaken. They run their hands through their hair to try and tame it, then look over at Arthur, who’s averted his gaze. His lips are tight, his body tense.

“ Miss Devin, I want you to be honest with me, okay? ” The gunslinger watches them from his peripherals, but he doesn’t face them directly. There’s a quiet, guarded tone in his voice. “ Do I scare you? D’ya think I’m gonna hurt ya? ”

Devin opens their mouth, ready to reassure Arthur, but the words don’t come as quickly as they’d like. They wouldn’t be entirely truthful. The guilt rushes back––not that it ever really left––and Devin looks down to their lap.

“ I don’t think you’re going to hurt me, ” they say. That much is true. Arthur can and does hurt people, but he does not mean Devin any harm. This they believe. “ However . . . ” this part is a bit harder. Devin fidgets with their hands. “ It’s . . . difficult not to be intimidated. It’s not your fault. I promise. It’s just . . . y’know, you’re so much bigger than me, and the last bean I trusted––– ” they shudder before they can finish that thought, eyes squeezing closed.

They never mentioned the Snakeskin Man before. They never mentioned his name, or anything about him––or even that he was a he. All Arthur knows is that he isn’t the first human “ bean ” that Devin has come into contact with. He has tried to ask a little about Devin’s previous experiences––both with and without any past humans––but they’ve always been sparse on the details. Out of courtesy, he’s never pressed much, though he’s always felt a curiosity. Now, hearing this, that curiosity burns even more.

“ Y’don’t gotta tell me anythin’ ya don’t want to, ” he reminds ( though he wishes they would ).

“ I want to, ” they say quickly, before Arthur can try to placate them further. They scoot over and gesture for Arthur to make himself comfortable; it’s quite the story Devin has to tell.

On nights when Devin visits, it’s not uncommon for Arthur to turn off the lamps and lie down while the two of them share quiet conversation in the dark. It’s less conspicuous, and far easier for them both to talk with the height difference mitigated. It also gives Arthur an opportunity to see Devin up close––even if it’s only in faint moonlight.

Once he’s settled on his side, Devin clears their throat. There need not be any light for him to see that they’re nervous. Worry pricks at his mind.

The things Devin tells him, the abuse they recall, the trepidation in their voice––Arthur listens, silent, but stewing. He is not an innocent man, this he knows, but Arthur struggles to imagine how someone could intentionally bring harm to Devin. The mere thought threatens to send him into a rage. This “ Snakeskin Man ”––Arthur swears he’ll gut him and skin him like a deer if their paths ever cross.

He keeps that to himself, though. More immediately, he focuses on Devin. They’re shaking slightly, no doubt rattled from their none-too-pleasant trip down memory lane.

“ Come ‘ere, ” he says, offering an open hand. Wordlessly, Devin leans into it, their cheek pressed to his warm palm. Arthur swears he can feel a faint dampness, like the smallest of tears. His fingers curl around them, cradling and sheltering them. What he lacks in his ability to comfort with words, he more than makes up for with his gentle touch.

Devin doesn’t say much more, their words spent and exhausted. Huddled up in the gunslinger’s hand, though, their shivering stops.

“ Micah kinda reminds me of him, ” they say. “ He just needs to sound more English. ”

Arthur snorts softly at the thought of an English-sounding Micah. He didn’t think it possible to imagine the man sounding any more ridiculous.

“ Micah’s probably one to avoid. ” If that snake ever did get his hands on Devin, Arthur’s sure he’d kill him.

“ Yeah. I don’t plan to introduce myself anytime soon. ” Devin breathes out a sigh and runs their fingers idly over the ridges of Arthur’s palm. They’ve calmed down for now. Arthur, it seems, has a talent for making them feel safe, even if they are a little intimidated at times.

“ Did . . . you say you brought back food? Or did I dream that up? ”

#g/t #g/t writing #g/t rdr #rdr #arthur morgan #devin clarke #hyena ocs #hyena writes #WOO it's only been [checks wrist] MONTHS since i wrote anything!!#here is your crumb for the quarter #as well as a reminder that i still love me some cowboahs

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argyle-s · 6 years

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THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME CHAPTER 12/38

Rating: Mature

Read at Ao3

Start at the Beginning

Kara has a talk with Astra and a talk with James. Cat gets her interview with Supergirl.

Thanks to @ifourmindbeso for her great work as a beta. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own.

Chapter 12 – Don’t Be Scared, Truth Is Hell

“Hello, Little One,” Astra said as Kara touched down next to her. She was sitting in the same spot Kara had occupied the last time they talked, perched at the edge of the cliff, with her feet dangling. Kara sat down next to her and slipped one arm around her, hugging her gently.

“Hello, Aunt Astra.”

Astra slipped an arm around her and returned the hug. “I’m honestly unsure if I should be hugging you or fighting you at this moment, but I find I have little stomach for battle.”

“That’s good and bad,” Kara said. “Good because I don’t want to fight you. Bad because there is a war coming and I want you on my side when it arrives.”

Astra pulled back, looking at Kara. “What do you know of war, Little One?”

Kara sighed. “More than I want to, Aunt Astra. More than I want to.”

“I’m not sure it will matter. Your device does as you said, and none of my scientists can find a way around it. Myriad will not work, and this world is doomed.”

Kara shook her head. “No. This world can still be saved and as I said before, Krypton was too far gone before you even realized there was a problem.”

“You sound so sure of that.”

“Because I know things you don’t. Our death wasn’t quite the reckless suicide we’ve been led to believe.”

“What do you mean?” Astra asked, and there was a sharpness to her tone. Kara could tell the underlying emotions. Disbelief, curiosity, maybe even hope. The hope Kara understood. Hope that Astra would no longer have to carry this guilt.

“We may have held the knife, but the Brainiacs were the ones who pushed it in. They modified our mining data, sabotaged our equipment and hid what was happening from us, right up until the end. Our leaders were far from blameless, but the death of Krypton was assisted suicide at the very least and I’d call it a bought and paid for murder.”

Astra shook her head. “I dislike the Coluans a great deal, Kara. Especially the Brainiacs. But we cannot push our own guilt off onto others.”

“I have proof,” Kara said. “I know who paid them. I know why their employers wanted us dead.” She turned to look at Astra. “I’m not just offering you a chance to save this world, Astra. I’m offering you a chance to find *justice* for those who orchestrated the death of our race.”

Kara climbed to her feet. “The ecological problems of this world are easy to solve. Teach them to make omegahedrons and betahedrons crystals, and we would gain decades to work out the issues with recycling. We even have technologies that could help with that. Give them sub-light propulsion technology and they have enough asteroids to mine that they’d never even be tempted to start core mining.”

“You cannot think it would be that simple,” Astra said.

“No,” she said. “I don’t. But I do believe in the humans. This is not Krypton, Aunt Astra. Many of them recognize the harm they’ve done to their world and work to mitigate and reverse the damage. Even their leaders, at least, some of them, are involved in the effort. We can help them, encourage them, give them the wisdom that can be gained from our mistakes. But taking away their free will… That’s not right. You were on the verge of committing a horrible crime. Worse, you were on the verge of attracting the attention of enemies this world is not prepared to fight.”

“What do you mean?” Astra asked.

“Did you seriously think that no one would take notice if you turned on a device that could sway the will of an entire species?” Kara shook her head and dug the spy beacon out of her boot. Astra held her own up, and Kara touched them together, turning the light off.

“I had not considered it,” Astra admitted.

“The humans have a saying. One that far too few of them take to heart. ‘Don’t cling to a mistake because you’ve spent a lot of time making it.’”

“Wise words,” Astra said.

“Yes, they are,” Kara said. “You’ve spent decades on Myriad. That is a *lot* of time.”

Astra climbed to her feet. “What would you have me do?”

“You’ve looked down on humans, judged them, condemned them, plotted how you would save them and rule them. But you haven’t lived among them or come to know them and understand them.”

“And how would I do that?”

“Surrender,” Kara said. “I know it goes against every instinct you have. I know you want to fight until the bitter end. But please, Aunt Astra, Surrender. We can integrate you into society. Find you a home, a purpose.”

“Your DEO will put me in a cage,” Astra said.

“At first,” Kara said. “for a few days. But if you give your parole, if you swear to obey the laws of this world, the director would be willing to help you. The help would not come freely. You’d be expected to work with the DEO, to help defend this world from those who would harm it, but that’s what you and your soldiers were sworn to do on Krypton, as well.”

Kara could see the conflict on Astra’s face and she knew she’d pushed far enough for one night.

“I have work in the morning,” she said.

“Work?” Astra asked.

“Yes,” Kara said. “I help out at the DEO and with crime prevention, search and rescue, and emergency response, but that’s something I do because I can and because I want to. I’m not compelled. I have a job, a place I go to during the day. Duties and responsibilities. I have friends there, people who care about me. A boss who is amazing and who makes me proud of what I do.”

“You’ve found a vocation,” Astra said, a little smile in her voice.

Kara shook her head. “No, Aunt Astra. I’ve found a life and I will protect it. Even from you.” She took a few steps forward and slipped both arms around Astra, hugging her tightly.

“/ukiem w rrip , eh ,astruh,/” she said. “Please, think about what I’ve said.”

“I will,” Astra said, hugging her back. “/.ukiem w rrip , eh shod kir/ Next time I light the beacon, you will bring your proof that our world was murdered.” There was no question there, and Kara recognized it for the demand it was.

“I will,” she said. “Good night.” With that, she let go of Astra, and lifted into the sky.

Kara was sitting on the balcony off the bullpen, working her way through her fourth big belly bacon double cheese burger as she watched the city. It had been a good morning. Cat was in meetings for most of it, which had let her slip away to handle a small tenement fire before it had gotten out of control and she’d lifted a sinking Cabin cruiser out of the bay after its hull got ruptured by a snapped tow line. It made her feel useful, but it had burned a lot of calories, and even with her reputation for packing away insane amounts of food, she thought eight burgers and two jumbo chili-cheese fries might raise an eyebrow or two. Especially since she’d gotten a whole chocolate cake for desert. It was only a five-inch cake, practically a cup cake, really, but she knew Cat was already at least a little suspicious.

Honestly, she didn’t know how humans survived on two thousand calories a day.

She was so busy enjoying her lunch, and the sights and sounds of the city that she almost didn’t notice James approaching. In the end, it was his cologne that did him in. She’d learned that scent well in the original timeline. The brand was a Metropolis exclusive. The store custom blended the stuff and would not ship it. James had brought a couple of bottles with him and she knew he’d eventually get Clark to start shipping the stuff to him. She didn’t blame him. It really did smell fantastic.

“Hey,” he said. “Mind if I sit?”

She shook her head. “Go ahead,” she said after she swallowed a bite of her burger. “Just don’t expect me to share the food.”

James raised his hands in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t think of it,” he said. “I think the closest I’ve ever come to death was the night I ate the last slice of pecan pie at Clark’s.”

“You know, on Krypton, we sentenced people to eternity in the Phantom Zone for lesser crimes than pie theft.” James laughed, and Kara inwardly cringed at the smile he was giving her, because she recognized it.

He took a breath and looked at her with what she’d always thought of as his serious face. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she said, then took another bite of her food, chewing slowly.

“Did I do something wrong?”

She swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he said, “You’ve been snippy with me on more than one occasion. You got me in trouble with Cat when I was trying to help you, and just now, when I smiled at you, you cringed.”

Kara frowned. “Sorry, I thought I hid that better.”

“You hid it pretty well,” James said. “If I hadn’t known Clark for as long as I have, I never would have noticed. But you and he both get the same look on your face when you’re uncomfortable and trying not to show it.”

Kara picked up her drink and took a swig of the grape soda to give herself time to think.

“You know I’m gay,” she said.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I got that last night.”

“You also know that I have better than average senses.”

He nodded.

“So… It’s a little uncomfortable knowing you’re attracted to me,” she said.

“Um…”

“Look, I get it,” she said. “Biological response. Not something you can help. Really, I understand. But every time I hear the tempo of your breathing shift, or your heart rate spike… Some guys are good at boundaries. Winn, once I told him I was gay, went out of his way to make sure he didn’t say or do anything that could be considered a romantic gesture. Made sure I knew he wanted me to tell him if he ever did anything he shouldn’t, so he wouldn’t do it again. So, I’m fine around Winn, because I know, even if he does find me attractive, he’ll never act on that. He’s going to respect the boundary I put in place.”

Of course, she’d been a bit firmer establishing that boundary in this timeline than in the original one, where she’d honestly been completely oblivious to most of his attempts at flirting, right up until he kissed her. She suspected he’d dealt with it better this time around both because it wasn’t a rejection of him, specifically, and because she’d laid down the law early enough that he hadn’t gotten his hopes up for over a year.

“You’re worried I won’t?” James asked.

She shrugged. “Sorry,” she said. “Like I said, Winn was great about it, but it took a while for me to be sure he wasn’t all talk about respecting my sexuality, but we kind of started with a clean slate. You and I… It’s harder, because you are already in my personal space, and I didn’t invite you there.”

“I’m sorry. I, um-”

“No, it’s not your fault. Clark shouldn’t have told you without getting my permission. I get why he did what he did, but it doesn’t stop this from being awkward. You’re somewhere I didn’t invite you, and it makes it difficult to trust that you won’t push for more.”

“That’s why you got so angry about me trying to help you with Cat,” he said.

“Yes,” Kara replied. “You were white knighting me,” she said. “I know it’s because Clark is worried about me and I know you’re trying to be friendly so I’m trying to have patience, because I know you must be a great guy if Clark let you in on his little secret.”

“Is there anything I can do to make it better?” James asked.

“You can tell me you respect that I’m gay and I don’t have to worry about you trying to pull a Chasing Amy.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Ben Affleck movie,” she said. “Gay girl gets to be friends with a straight guy. He tells her he’s in love with her. Suddenly, she’s not gay anymore.”

“Yeah, I saw it.”

“Right. Pull that declaration of love crap, and I will give my cousin his best friend back by punting you to Metropolis.”

James nodded. “I think I can live with those terms,” he said. “I just… I want to help.”

Kara smiled. “That’s good, James. That’s a good thing to want, and I want your help. I *want* to be your friend, because like I said, I’m pretty sure you have to be a really great person. Clark is an amazing judge of character. I’ve just lost too much to have to worry about losing a friend because of something like a misplaced crush.”

“Fair enough,” he said, holding out his hand. “Friends?”

Kara reached across the table. “Friends,” she said.

It was just after sunset when Kara landed on Cat’s balcony in full Supergirl regalia, carrying a small package under her left arm. A quick check with her X-Ray vision confirmed that Cat was still inside working, so Kara unpacked quickly. The package held two freshly-washed tumblers, a gallon of bottled water, and a bottle of Scotch, plus an ice ball mold. She sat out the tumblers, then opened the water and filled the ice ball mold, then gave it a quick blast with her freeze breath. She lifted the lid, and dropped a perfect sphere of ice into each of the tumblers, then set the gallon of water and the mold under the coffee table, before turning to the Scotch.

She opened the box, and took out the bottle, enjoying the ritual. Green glass, wrapped in a black label. Ardbeg. 10 year, because Uigeadail never tasted quite right to her and Corryvreckan was peppery and Cat hated peppery Scotches. She broke the seal, taking her time, smiling as she remembered the first bottle of Scotch she’d ever opened. She’d been working for Cat for a week, and the decanter was almost empty. She’d knelt down, and opened the cabinet, and been confounded at the assortment of bottles there and almost afraid to turn and ask Cat what she’d prefer. Almost as if by magic, Cat had spoken up, telling her to open a bottle of Macallan 18. It had been such a simple moment, and one that nearly broke her when, years later, she’d been digging through the rubble of the CatCo building, after Jeremiah had torn it down and she’d found a case of Macallan that had somehow still been completely intact.

She reached up, wiping the tears from her eyes before she uncorked the bottle, and poured two glasses, then sat the bottle to the side before reaching into her boot and pulling out her phone and typing out a quick text. “She’s waiting on the balcony for you, Ms. Grant.” She hit send, then checked to make sure her phone was on silent before tucking it back into her boot and picking up her drink and taking a sip.

A moment later, the door to Cat’s office opened and Cat stepped out, the surprise on her face carefully concealed.

“It’s you,” she whispered.

Kara dipped her head slightly in acknowledgement. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “Your assistant said you were a Scotch drinker. I can’t really afford Macallan 18, but I didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”

Cat lifted an eyebrow. “Most of the time, the person doing the interview supplies the drinks,” she said.

“I know,” Kara replied, “but this isn’t most of the time, Ms. Grant.” She gestured at the couch across from her. “Please, sit.”

Cat slipped her hand into her pocket and extracted her phone. “Do you mind if I record this?”

“Not at all,” Kara said. “In fact, I insist. As long as you abide by the terms of our agreement.”

Cat sat down, placing her phone between them, and tapping the record button on her voice recorder app. Then she picked up her glass of Scotch and took a sip. “Mmmm… This is good,” she said.

Kara reached out and turned the bottle so Cat could see the label. “Ardbeg 10 Year. I used to have a friend who was fond of it.”

“Used to?” Cat asked, jumping on the detail like her namesake pouncing on a mouse.

“She died,” Kara said, leaning back.

Cat’s face fell, and Kara could see the honest consternation on her face. “I’m sorry.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Ms. Grant, but if you stop to offer me condolences every time I talk about someone I lost, this will be a very long interview.”

There was a look on Cat’s face Kara didn’t quite recognize, but it was gone after a moment and Cat just gave a small nod.

“I suppose we should start with the basics then? Who are you, where are you from?”

“I’m Lady El. Eldest of my house. Daughter of Zor-El, Life Engineer, Second Degree of the Science Guild of Argo, and Alura In-Ze, Chief Adjudicator of Argo. Granddaughter of Seg-El and Nimda An-Dor through my father, and In-Ze and Myara Bar-Ul through my mother. Kal-El, the man you call Superman, is my first cousin. Zor-El, and Kal’s father, Jor-El were brothers. I am sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t give you my common name.”

“Why not?”

Kara took another sip of her Scotch, and pointedly ignored the question.

“I’ll take that at a ‘no comment’,” Cat said, a slight smile on her face. “But you said you were the eldest of your house. How is it that Superman, your cousin, has been our there for over a decade, and we’re only hearing from you now?”

“Are you?” Kara asked. “I thought you were a better journalist than that, Ms. Grant. Or did you think those wild fires last September just decided to blow themselves out just in time to save eight people? Or that the mud slide in the middle of the summer just decided to freeze itself solid one day?”

“That was you?”

“Yes.”

“But why stay hidden?”

“Because, I may have been born thirteen Earth Years before Superman, but things aren’t as easy as dates on a Calendar. He and I left Krypton less than two minutes apart. I arrived here two and a half decades later than him. My ship was thrown off course, and I fell into…” Kara frowned. “You don’t have a term for it,” she said. “The closest translation is ‘Phantom Zone’. It’s a kind of stress point in the fabric of space time. Time loses meaning. It seems to move at the same rate inside as out, but it doesn’t, not really. A person in the zone might live there for every moment of a thousand years, and when they left, they would remember every second of it, but their body would not have aged a day. I spent twenty-four years in there, drifting and dreaming.” She took a sip of her Scotch, then sat the glass down.

“Then… I wouldn’t call it a miracle. More like sheer luck. Something triggered a reboot of my pod’s systems. Once the computer was back on line, it restarted the engine, and brought me here.”

“Twenty-four years adrift and you’re thirteen years older than Superman,” Cat said. “That would make you about fourty-nine.”

“Fifty-one, actually,” Kara said. “The small drives that fit in a shuttle pod can only reach about a thousand times the speed of light, and Krypton was two thousand light years from Earth. I was born in nineteen sixty-four, by your Calendar. September twenty-second, if I’ve done the math right. But I spent twenty-six years of that asleep.”

“But you remember Krypton?” Cat asked.

“I do. I remember the mid-day festival in Kryptonopolis, the mourning song for the lost city of Kandor, and the Mass of Rao Transitioning at the temple of the long twilight in Argo City.” She looked down into her glass. “I remember watching as it was wiped from the stars, taking my home, my culture, fifteen thousand years of recorded history, and thirty billion souls with it.”

She lifted the Scotch to her lips and drained the glass, then sat it down on the coffee table, and looked up at Cat. “Krypton might be a subject for another interview, Ms. Grant.”

She could see the sympathy, the compassion in Cat’s eyes and she wanted to fall into them. It was too easy to confuse this Cat with her Cat, with the woman she’s spent hours talking to, the one who’d listened to her bitch about Snapper Carr and Nick Farrow and taught her the best ways to jerk them up by their sexist little short hairs. The woman who listened as Kara mourned for Lena and talked her through the guilt she felt at being unable to save her friend from the hatred of her own family. This Cat wasn’t her Cat, this Cat was the potential that her Cat had grown out of and Kara had taken a far more active hand in nurturing that potential this time around, but sometimes, it hurt to look at, because they weren’t there, not yet.

“So, there will be other interviews?” Cat asked, and Kara felt herself smile as she watched Cat’s mask slip back into place.

“Maybe,” Kara said. “As long as what you write is honest. I’m no more interested in a puff piece than I am a hatchet job.”

“Why me?” Cat asked, and Kara felt the surprise hit her that Cat would even ask.

“I’m not sure I understand the question?”

“Why give me an interview?” she said. “I mean, I was half way into twisting James Olsen’s arm to get it, but somehow my assistant got you here with a phone call. If you are Superman’s cousin, why not run to his little groupie?”

Kara laughed so hard, she almost fell off the couch. “Oh,” she said. “If you ever call Ms. Lane that to her face, please, please make sure someone is filming it.”

“You know Lois?”

Kara shook her head. “If Supergirl and Lois Lane had ever met, don’t you think there would be a three page spread in the Planet about it?”

“Probably,” Cat admitted. “But you still haven’t answered the question.”

“I don’t want to be a footnote,” Kara said. “If I went to Ms. Lane, all I would ever be is Superman’s cousin. A detail in a story about a Lost Boy who made good. That’s not what I want to be.”

“What do you want to be?” Cat asked.

“Worthy,” Kara said. “Thirty billion people died on Krypton. and I’m one of the last who remembers. I’m the only one who saw them die, the only one who has walked the streets of my home and lived among you. People sacrificed, people died, so I could stand here, alive, free. So that I didn’t burn with my home or get dissected in a lab somewhere. I want to help people. I want to be worthwhile. I want to prove that those sacrifices weren’t in vain. That the world is a better place because I’m in it, because when the day came, I stood up and fought to make it that way.”

Kara stood up and walked over to the balcony rail. “People are out there, calling me a hero. I don’t feel that way. Being strong, flying, heat vision, freeze breath, those things make me able to do more, give more, but they don’t make me a hero. A hero is someone who helps when they don’t have to. Someone who sacrifices their time, their sweat, their blood, even their life, to help, to make things better, even if just for one other person.

“I was sent here to protect my cousin, to be his hero, and I failed. It wasn’t my fault. I know that. I was already asleep when my ship malfunctioned. One minute, I was racing down the launch track after my three-week old cousin. The next he was standing over me, a grown man of twenty-four.

“I can’t do what I was sent to do, but I can still help. Still find a way to be worth the sacrifices made when I was given that pod and worth the sacrifices people here on Earth made so I could have something resembling a normal life until I was ready to put on the crest again.” She turned around, to look at Cat. “That’s what I want.”

Kara looked at her, and she could see tears glistening in Cat’s eyes, and without really thinking about it, she walked over to the small bench seat and opened it, taking out a box of tissues and bringing it back to Cat. Cat looked at her for a moment, then at the tissue, then back up at her, and Kara realized what she’d done, and wanted to kick herself.

Cat, though, took a couple of tissues from the box, and delicately dabbed the unshed tears from her eyes.

“I hate this time of year,” Cat said. “My allergies always act up.”

Kara nodded as she sat back down.

It took Cat a moment to finish composing herself, then she turned back to Kara, and Kara waited for the inevitable, except it never came.

“Any long-term goals?” Cat asked.

Kara nodded, feeling a little shocked, but remembering the plan she had for this interview. “I’d like to prove to the people of National City, to America and to the whole world, that aliens aren’t something to be feared. That we can live here and contribute. It’s a bit daunting though, when I see the current crisis with the Syrian Refugees, how reluctant people are to help them, and they are human. It makes the idea that someone might extend us formal amnesty, much less asylum or even citizenship, that much further away.”

“I don’t know,” Cat said. “Superman’s been granted citizenship.”

“There are exceptions to every rule Ms. Grant. You know that. My cousin, me, we look human enough. We even look like the common conception people have when they think ‘American’, so granting us citizenship isn’t that much of a stretch. What about the aliens who can’t pass as human? What about the ones with green skin and red eyes? What about the ones who have horns, or four arms? How many of the beings Superman has had to fight were only hostile because they knew there was no place here for them? That they would never be allowed to walk around freely?”

“That’s an interesting question,” Cat said. “It sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

Kara shrugged. “It’s something that sets me apart from my cousin. He arrived here as an infant, two years old chronologically, but physically and mentally, barely three weeks of age. Earth is his home. He’s never known any other. I’m a refugee. I will never not be a refugee.”

“What about things that would make you feel more at home?” Cat asked. “Marriage, family?”

“Maybe someday. I haven’t had a lot of luck with dating.”

“No?”

“Off the record?” Kara asked.

Cat nodded.

“I mean it, Ms. Grant.”

“You have my word,” she said.

“You remember the answer I gave about the Scotch?” Kara asked, and again, Cat’s face fell. “Different person,” Kara said, “same answer.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Kara took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Do you think you have enough for your article, Ms. Grant?”

Cat nodded. “I think so,” she said. “I… can I have my assistant call you if I have any follow up questions?”

Kara smiled as she stood up. “She has my number,” Kara said.

“I don’t suppose I could get it too?”

Kara smiled. “I won’t say no, Ms. Grant, but I will say not on the first date. I’ll think about it after I see what you write. Good night.” She didn’t wait for a reply. She just kicked off and flew into the night.

Translated from the Kryptonian

ukiem w rrip , eh ,astruh,

I love you

ukiem w rrip , eh shed kir

I love you, Little One

#supergirl #supercat #supercanary #sanvers #fanfiction #the shape of things to come #kara danvers #alex danvers #cat grant #maggie sawyer #sara lance #j'onn j'onzz #susan vasquez #lois lane #clark kent #james olsen #winn schott jr.#future shock

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casuistor · 6 years

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Did you listen to the NY demo songs of the musical that were put online recently? Some of the songs that weren't officially released are now available. Was wondering if you have any thoughts about them... Adrienne Warren's Misa in I'm Ready sounds v different compared to Fūka Yuzuki!

I am so happy the NY Demo got leaked tbh, I’ve been listening to it nonstop for the last couple of days and lemme just say – even though I don’t fully agree with all the characterization choices, the demo is gorgeous ;~; THANK YOU for the excuse to ramble about this, haha.

I’ll outline my thoughts on the songs that weren’t released previously under the read more, but just keep in mind that these are just some quick opinions on the songs rather than my thoughts on the demo vs the final versions of the songs b/c then this would be writing for weeks and nobody wants that textwall, haha.

…I say this is going to be abbreviated and then it turned out long-ish anyway.

Where is the Justice?

Yes I know this was released previously, but the version that was officially released cut a minute out from the song, so I’m commenting, fight me.

While I think the song is overall too focused around the issues with the criminal justice in America for a story that is supposedly set in Japan, I think the verse that was removed was more reflective of the sorts of things Light in canon might think.

That said I don’t fully agree that Light would argue that “draining the color from within until we’re back to seeing black and white and wrong and right again” is actually a good thing, especially considering canon Light does evaluate mitigating circumstances in his evaluation of who is guilty.

Overall, I think the song does a good job of establishing Light’s character as a kid who, despite having some deeply flawed views about justice, does genuinely care about fairness and has his heart in the right place.

To this day though, I’m not convinced that manga! Light is the kind of kid who would spark this debate in his classroom. He very much seems to be the kind of person who keeps his cynicism about the world to himself. If you ask me, his “ic” response would be more along the lines of “sure, the justice system isn’t perfect, but it’s our job as the next generation to keep improving it, isn’t it?” But that doesn’t make a cool song, lmao.

Hurricane

Yes, this one was also leaked before, but you’re not stopping me from talking about Weather Metaphors The Song™ now that it’s out in HQ.

Why. WHY.

I think the problem I have with this song is that there’s really not much character development during this song. Light is just immediately sucked into a power fantasy and this is really… not reflective of Light’s character in the series.

I’m Ready

LOVE. FUCKING LOVE ADRIENNE WARREN’S VOICE.

But i really don’t agree that Adrienne is a good casting choice with Misa. I LOVE her voice and her singing, but she’s… too much of a power house and Misa is just not that at all. Misa needed to be bubbly and radiate cuteness rather than maturity.

Hearing this rendition of Misa really made me understand why the Korean production went the direction they did with Jung Sun Ah’s Misa though, and it comes as much less of a headscratcher now.

I think these lyrics are also not PG enough for Misa’s idol image which sounds ridiculous b/c it’s overall a pretty tame song, lmao

Specifically it’s lines like “let me kiss you and then let me kiss you again” that are maybe not… squeaky clean enough for the image that idols in Japan have to project.

We All Need A Hero

Perfection. Absolute perfection. I love that they threw in that dumb light pun lmao.

Honestly this almost made me cry and I wish I knew who sings this song as they were the perfect Sayu singing voice. Young, sweet, optimistic, sincere sounding? Nailed it. (Edit: I am told that the singer is Laura Osnes)

I am VERY much intrigued by the fact that this song was written as a solo in the NY Demo as opposed to the odd duet that it became in the final version. This makes much more sense to me and avoids weird/creepy parallels between Sayu and Misa that the final version forced by making it a duet.

The Game Begins

I am so distracted by the line “for even the perfect crime has the perfect flaws” because this is just not logically coherent.

ON LESS GRIPEY TERRITORY – having the whole demo did put into perspective for me why the Weather Metaphors had to be, and I think it’s because they may have been going for a nature vs machine type of theme… and while I can appreciate it poetically (?) I just don’t agree that it fit thematically with the character of L and Light.

Like why… does L keep making tech metaphors? Is this supposed to be a quirk of his the same way that the posture/diet is? I think in a way this was poorly executed and characterization was ultimately sacrificed in favor of poetic analogies.

The literal first line “empty your mind of any feelings” is very unlike L to do. L is a detective who works heavily based on his intuition and his gut instincts. He did not tackle the Kira case like a super computer interested in objectivity and eliminating bias. That’s just not what happened in canon.

I stand very much corrected on these lyrics as they are “empty your mind of any theories.” My bad, I don’t have the best ear for lyrics. But that said, doesn’t this contradict the fact that he already took an action based on a theory with the LLT plan?

Overall I think this song took too many poetic liberties with L, and tried too hard to make him sound intelligent by throwing in “smart sounding words” like ~calculus~ and ~evolution~ even though those words didn’t actually make that much sense in the context he was applying them in?

“A stronger mind and evolution determines who wins the game” – for example. Evolution and adaptation aren’t synonyms, but he uses them as such anyway and this kind of clumsiness, though very lyrically pretty, is a bit… idk, not quite what I associate with L myself.

In terms of the overall performance – lovely. My issues are 100% the lyrics on this one. Jarrod Specter performs fantastically.

There Are Lines

Fight me this song is best song and I honestly did not like this song much in the final version of it.

J’ADORE how salty Soichiro is about L’s method of offering up Lind L Tailor as a decoy. His anger seems so genuine and believable in this, and I love how it’s so obvious that he has no idea that this is applicable to Light too, since they don’t force that dumb “KAMI NI NARU!!!!” line to ram the subtext down your throat. (… I say as I claim that I wasn’t going to talk about comparisons to the final Japanese songs, ahem).

That said, was Soichiro actually that salty about L’s tactics there with LLT in the manga? No. At least not to the extreme that he lost a lot of respect for L for it. In fact, manga!Soichiro seemed impressed by the results L achieved and didn’t really seem to dwell on the moral implications of L’s actions.

tl;dr not the most ic or canonically based interpretation of Soichiro, but I am standing by this man.

Personally, I think this is an improvement on the character AND LET ME JUST SAY THIS SONG MADE ME REALLY WISH THEY’D ADAPTED THE YOTSUBA ARC IN THIS MUSICAL??? Can you imagine this song as a reprise as Soichiro shoots Light while they’re in the car?

You’re welcome

Secrets and Lies

I cannot emphasize how much I love when Soichiro calls out L for his awful morals in addition to calling out Kira’s. This is so nice -w-

I am also deeply enamored with the fact that L also outright says “I don’t care who gets hurt now, as long as I get one more shot” because fucking yes – L is so brazen about this in the manga, and most adaptations try to sweeten his attitude.

I enjoy that it is constantly reinforced that neither Light nor L are in the right because there are constant parallels between the two and the two are criticized by the narrative.

Mortals and Fools

“What I see in your eyes is a counterfeit emotion” – the truest thing ever said about the manga!Misa’s feelings about love.

Admittedly, Demo!Rem annoys me as a character though. It’s not a problem with casting – Carrie’s singing is lovely and I think they made a good choice there. This is a bit of an aside I guess, but I just don’t understand how it is believable that Rem actually romantically fell in love with Misa as the song “When Love Comes” implies after all this love is for mortals and fools lark and Misa… doesn’t really seem to do anything to win Rem’s love in a romantic sense of it. Platonic love I can squint and buy certainly, but not romantic based on the contents of “Mortals and Fools”, “Borrowed Time,” and “When Love Comes.” Maybe something in the actual script/dialogue justifies it? But with the material available so far, I’m not seeing it.

I think also Demo!Rem’s fixation on the notion of love is something that’s… overexaggerated from her more subtle curiosity over the issue in the manga. I just don’t think I’d agree that the melancholy tone demo!Rem has when she says she tries and fails to really understand love as an emotion is true to the manga. Manga!Rem seems to have a more “god Misa, I get this is important to you but could you maybe slow down” kind of vibe to her. Melancholy doesn’t really seem to be it, exactly.

For the sake of clarity – the issue I have is not that Rem’s character was changed from the manga to make her develop romantic interests in Misa. That is perfectly a-okay and it’s actually pretty cool that they went this route with demo!Rem.

My issue is that from a narrative perspective, Rem’s character development in the demo seems underdeveloped and not optimally executed given that she is a) literally not human and b) as she herself points out is a shinigami who fundamentally does not understand why humans idealize romantic love.

Shinigami themselves in the context of this musical are not shown to idealize love within their own culture. Ryuk and Rem both seem to find it funny or baffling/futile indicating that this is not a culture that parallels human culture in its zealous overvaluation of romantic love as a be all end all goal of life. Shinigami, according to the musical’s own internal logic, are not amatonormative..

My pet peeve exists specifically because it is somewhat frustrating to me, an aroace person, when even non-humans who were very firm on not relating to romantic love (and yes, “Mortals and Fools” makes Rem come down more strongly on that side compared to “Zankoku na Yume”) and have no reason to inherently want to experience or idealize romantic love the same way human society normalizes it for humans, starts extolling the virtues of romantic love as the pinnacle of interpersonal relationships.

I can fully respect that this is not a pet peeve that most other people will have, or even be inclined to view from this perspective and that to many, none of these things matter and that’s fine! Just keep in mind that I would find this just as pet peeve-y if Rem were a male shinigami and would have no problems whatsoever with any of this had Rem been a human girl or if shinigami culture as a whole been portrayed differently in the musical itself. Also please note, I am only speaking for myself. I’m sure other aroace folk will have different opinions as well. Ironically enough, Rem in the final live version, I can more readily see as developing romantic feelings for Misa precisely because “Inochi no Kachi” was written the way it was and it is a damn shame that that is not the direction that was eventually taken with the character in the live productions as they seem to view Rem as having more maternal instincts. (…which, I’d again disagree is an inference of the manga, as I do think Rem’s feelings about Misa were very platonic in a ‘friends’-ish way rather than a parental way.)

tl;dr All I’m saying is that I think demo!Rem should have gotten more charater development, and it is a shame that she did not.

On a performative note – it is really odd that Rem’s voice is higher than Misa’s. I don’t think I’d make this call.

Borrowed Time

Adrienne delivers yet another killer performance!!

I know I said I wasn’t gonna make comparisons but I have to say that between “Borrowed Time” and “Inochi no Kachi” Borrowed Time is just so much more IC for manga!Misa.

I’m glad they based this song around something Misa actually said in the manga since that line “Just kill me. I was supposed to die that day anyway” is actually something that stuck with me for a very long time since it says so much about where Misa was in her life.

In the end, I guess I find it more convincing that Misa would be singing a song more centered around herself than singing a less me me me focused song about the virtues of sacrificial love as she ultimately is a person (in the manga) who is pretty selfish and focuses mostly on her own perspective.

Which is not to say that demo!Misa is really reflective of manga!MIsa because I don’t think that’s the case at all.

The Way It Ends

Blurgh more machine/tech metaphors and analogies from L…..I still don’t like this, sorry. He does not view himself as a robot in the manga, so it just comes out of left field for me.

I think the part of this song that lets me down is Jeremy’s delivery. He’s not !!!!!!! enough for what is supposed to be a victorious moment for Light. He has so much less energy and power than he did when he was singing Weather Metaphors, and it really shouldn’t be that way in my opinion.

On that last “a minute more.” Jeremy sounds weirdly remorseful, though I guess it’s hard to interpret the exact emotion behind that without an accompanying facial expression.

But speaking of delivery holy shit, Jarrod’s delivery as L is spot on. I’m kinda stunned by the range of emotion in his voice for this one: confusion, defiance, anger and that hint of regret that his life is coming to an end as he goes into “like a closing door.” It’s so… good??????

Overall I think the NY Demo is lovely and it has made me really happy to be able to listen to it after years of wondering what on earth it was like, lmao.

I know it sounds like I have a ton of gripes, but just keep in mind that a) even I consider these gripes pretty minor and they didn’t really hurt my enjoyment of the demo as a whole, and b) I think that adaptations have every right to make changes and take creative liberties with their source material. It’s important to do that in order to keep material fresh and bring in new thoughts and perspectives to the original.

#Anonymous #asks #death note musical #anonymous

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quillerqueen · 7 years

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Ink In Your Veins

Prompt 17 of @oqpromptparty. Ink Heart AU. Whenever Regina reads a story out loud, characters come to life. She vows never to read out loud again. One day she comes home to find Robin Hood in her son’s room. Henry confesses that he shares her strange gift.

Unedited because I’m on holidays with limited time and resources - apologies for any mistakes.

###

Regina Mills had vowed a decade ago to never use the gift she’d been cursed with ever again.

Ten years–to a dot. Ten years since her fiance died, all because of her and the power she wields. There would be no more victims.

Ten years since her little prince was born, and two weeks later he’d enter her life and change it forever. She’s given him everything, poured into him all the love she had in the entirety of her battered and bruised heart. Everything but one thing.

She’s never read him a story.

And now he finally knows why.

Regina looks from her son’s startled face to the book in his lap, a well-loved copy of The Adventures of Robin Hood, then to the man by the window with his bow drawn and arrow pointing in their general direction.

“Mom, I swear I didn’t mean to,” Henry blurts out, “I don’t even know how it happened. He just–he just sort of appeared out of thin air!”

“I believe you, Henry.”

He sighs in relief, hugging her back when she loops an arm around his shoulder. Thank god he’s all right.

Then she turns to the archer, green-clad and frowning, his eyes like a stormy sky studying her with less hostility and more curiosity than he has a right to.

“Now if you would please just stop aiming that thing at my son,” Regina says, “I will explain everything.”

He doesn’t take unkindly to the hint of bite in her voice, but lowers his bow an inch or two.

“Forgive me, milady–I’ve just been snatched from my tent and deposited in your home out of the blue. Surely you can understand my caution. But I promise I’ve no intention of harming your boy.”

“Mister–Mister Hood,” Henry chimes in, sliding off the bed and moving to stand beside Regina. “I’m sorry. I think I brought you here. I just don’t know how.”

This is it, then. Time for the truth to come out. She’s not sure she’s ready–but she also doesn’t have much choice.

“Henry,” she sighs, guiding him back to the bed and sinking down next to him because this might get long. “There’s something I never told you.”

So she tells him. About her gift and her curse, about how pages come to life to the mere sound of her voice, about how she could never partake of the simple pleasure of reading her little prince a bedtime story.

Their visitor remains at his spot by the window, his eyes alert and ever on her when she glances his way. By the time she’s finished, he’s lain down his weapon.

“And I have the same ability?” exclaims Henry, who’s been listening with rapt attention. “This is so cool!”

Regina tries to keep a straight face despite the sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach. She can hardly begrudge Henry the excitement after all–she used to be the same. And it’s led to horrible things.

“I know it is. But it’s also dangerous. Robin Hood, well, he’s a hero. But villains can come over too, and all sort of creatures. Your father–” They’ve always referred to Daniel that way, even though he’d died before the adoption was completed. “He got in the way of the Queen of Hearts, and it cost him his life.”

She’s never said those words out loud before. It breaks her heart in whole new ways to see Henry’s face fall as it sinks in.

“Is that why you never told me?” He frowns. “About your gift? You didn’t want to use it anymore?”

“Exactly. Now,” she takes a generous gulp of air and smiles her encouragement. “Why don’t you go ahead to the kitchen and make us all some hot chocolate? We’ll be right there.”

Henry regards her then their guest with narrowed eyes, and rises to pad out of his bedroom and downstairs. Soft clinking noises from down below fill the momentary silence.

“So I’ve been magicked here by your boy.” Robin Hood shakes his head, breathing a small, incredulous chuckle. “I suppose it could’ve been worse.”

“Could it?” The answer to that question, in Regina’s experience, is always yes; but the man’s cavalier attitude irks her. “Does this sort of thing happen to you often?”

“Not exactly, no.” He seems to catch on to the tension seeping into her words, and mitigates the impact of his sarcasm-coated words with a half-smirk that tickles in her belly. “I’m more used to being hunted and betrayed left and right to the sheriff’s lackeys. I thought at first this was his newest trick; but you’ve only treated me with kindness so far–and a thinly veiled threat when I potentially threatened your child, which I daresay was perfectly justified.”

“You jump to conclusions rather quickly,” she teases back in an effort to banish, or at least hide, her worries–especially if he doesn’t share them. “One drink offer and you throw caution to the wind?”

He places a hand over his heart in a dramatic show, and who knew Robin Hood had an affinity for theatrics?

“Ah, but do you intend to administer poison? I beg you to reconsider–I’m a hero after all.”

Regina rolls her eyes, secretly amused.

“And much too cocky for your own good. There goes my admiration for the Prince of Thieves. Oh how easily those pedestals crumble.”

He laughs at that, warm and deep from his belly. He has a good laugh. It pulls a smile out of her in turn.

The smell of hot chocolate lures them downstairs to discuss the next steps.

“How about this then?” He takes a careful sip, eyes blowing wide as he hums his approval much to Henry’s amusement. “Is this magical? Because if this sort of thing is common in your world, I am rather partial to it. No sheriff, no royal overlords, contraptions that do the work for you–I’d be tempted to stay if I didn’t miss my boy to bits already.”

“You’re a father?” they echo together.

Robin smiles, bright and adoring.

“Does your book not mention that? His name is Roland, and he’s been the light of my life for four years now.”

Guilt churns in Regina’s stomach. Other risks aside, a father and son have been separated, and it’s all her fault. This wouldn’t have happened if she’d only just told Henry the truth in the first place. But how could she have known they share these peculiar powers?

“We need to get you home.”

“Or,” Henry cuts in, bouncing in the chair, “maybe we could get Roland here instead! That way we get to meet him, and you won’t miss him so much while we look for a way to fix this.”

“Henry, I know how much you like Robin Hood, but this is not the time–and Roland isn’t written into your book, I don’t see how that would even work.” But that’s not entirely true–she’d done it before, written into the margins of pages in red ink and watched the words come to life just like the original text.

Unfortunately for her, Robin favours Henry’s way.

“The young lad has a point, actually. Roland would be safer here, what with Nottingham loose in Sherwood and me not there to defend the camp.”

Thud.

The air in the kitchen freezes.

A series of dull thuds and feet shuffling resonates from upstairs.

Someone is sneaking around the landing.

“Henry,” Regina mutters as Robin makes a quick job of notching an arrow to his bow, “what story were you reading when Robin popped up? Was the sheriff of Nottingham in it?”

Henry nods.

“Get behind me,” she whispers and grabs the baseball bat from the corner.

Robin Hood stands beside her, arrow at the ready, as the steps come ever closer. Regina grips the wood and exchanges a glance with the man whose presence, though very much part of the problem, oddly calms her erratically beating heart.

“An honour to fight alongside you, milady.”

Despite the adrenalin coursing through her, her grin comes easily in response to his own.

“And you–thief.”

The steps still just outside the kitchen door; the enemy is upon them.

Here we go, then.

#outlaw queen #regal believer #oq ff #oq fanfic #oq prompt #oq prompt party #ouat #bee writes fanfic #ink in your veins

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low-budget-korra · 7 years

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The Legend Of Korra: Book 5_Legacy

Hello my readers friends, I wanted to apologize for the delay but this semester in college is being terrible and this is consulting my time and my soul

Chapter 09_The Revelation - Part II

Korra

- Surprised to see me? - says Amon staring at me. By bending one of the elements, I quickly make a fireball - You dont need all this violence. Remember that if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it while you slept. - I give up attacking him, after all, he was right. How long was I unconscious? He could have done anything he wanted to do with me, but he did not ... - Looks like you wants to talk to me, then ... Let's talk. - he says sitting on apoltrona and motioning for me to sit on the bed. And i sit

I know I should end him after everything he's done against my friends and me, but my curiosity is greater than my resentment right now. All I want is to hear what he has to say.

-You should be dead.- i say.His lips curved around his mustache and beard made a big smile. He is completely different. Not just by the beard, but there is also a strange scar in the left eye.

-Sorry to disappoint you, Avatar. -He says at last.

- but how? I read police reports that the boat exploded and that some fishermen found bits of it.- I say, showing my surprise. How can anyone survive that?

-To be honest, I do not even know how it happened. All I remember is to wake up in a house, extremely confused ... Like you now little. -He laughs.

-I was not confused,- I say.

- Oh, of course not ...

-I was not confused. -I say again and he shrugs.

-Maybe my brother got me off the boat before it exploded,- he says, continuing his story. -Or maybe I did not want to die at that time and so I used the water bending to save my life. The fact is that I really do not know what happened at that time.

-Why did not you kill me or just let me die that night? I kinda was responsible for your brother's death ... -I regret that I said the moment the last words slip out of my mouth. It goes that he changes of idea and decides to use the blood bend with me ... I know that I can enter Avatar state and end the confrontation and with him, but still ... Blood bending is evil and hurts a lot.

-You were not responsible for his death.His actions brought to his terrible end.- He says confidently.

-If I had not gone to see him that night, things might have been different.- After I heard about their life story, I understood why Tarrlok was such an asshole. I confess I felt sorry for him ...

- What happened, as the verb conjugation itself says, is in the past, Avatar. If that mitigates your guilt, know that Tarrlok did not feel sorry for you, he just did not kill you because he had other plans in mind.

-I want to know what you were involved in and how you saved me." - I say authoritarian changing the subject.

-You should just thank me .... Some acts do not need motives, Avatar.

- To thank? -I give a sarcastic laugh. -You tried to kill my friends and you want me to thank you?

-Kill your friends? - This time he laughs. -You do not know anything, do you? I'll be a nice guy and I'll answer your questions, okay? - I look at him - I saved you because you are the Avatar and the world needs you.

This time, I can not help laughing ... Does the world need me? Does he think he'll convince me that he saved me so when he wanted to destroy me some time ago? ...

- Really. Do not laugh! - He says coolly.

- Okay! Okay! Assuming this to be true .... You wanted to destroy me a few years ago. Why did you change your mind? - I confess I feel extremely curious to hear his reply.

-I saw what you did to the world, Avatar. When I first saw you, you were just an arrogant, frightened little girl, but now ...

- Now what? -I ask impatiently. -You're a woman now. An inspiration.

- Oh really? -I let go of another sarcasm.

-The Korra I met that night on Memorial Island would fire a ball of fire in my head without hesitating the moment she realized that the mysterious fellow who helped her is actually the guy who tried to destroy her, but the Current Korra did not do this .... No! The present Korra knows how to sit and listen to what I have to say. - his words make me feel like a trained doggie that goes to follow all the orders of his master. Amon definitely does not serve to praise.

-Maybe all this is a plan for me to tie you up here with my metal bending and call the police .- I respond

- Oh really? The moment you think about doing this, i bending your blood and shoot your bendings again.- He snaps back, bluntly opening the mocking smile that had once been on my face.

-At least this time you would not be cowering behind a mask. - I say and a brief moment of silence is between him and me.-"Now tell me, what is your involvement in the bombing?"

-Try to demand something from me again, and I promise I'll do pretty bad things with your friends.- He threatens. What a psycho i hate him.And I cant even fight him, I mean, I can, but I dont know what he's been doing all these years. He may well have further improved his skills, better not risk it. At least not now

- Touch my friends and i will do very bad things with you .- I return in the same tone and he laughs.

-Well, enough of that, I'll get right to the point. I will not reveal everything to you. -He gets up.

- What? People died in that suicide bomb! - I get up - You're going to tell me everything you know right now, or ...

- People die every day, Avatar. It is not always your responsibility. - he walks and directs the exit - Just one piece of advice: Be careful going back to Republic City. There are people out there who still follow my idea and different from before, now they have powers.- He turns his back on me.

-Hey, you can not go out like that!-I run in your direction and when I touch your shoulder, my body tightens and I cant move. He throws me against the wall, bending my blood and runs away. I get up as fast as I can and run towards him, but he disappears as before ... Like a ghost.

As I leave the building, I feel the night breeze touch my face. What time will it be? Everyone should be worried. You better go home as soon as you can.

***

Upon arriving at Wu's house, I am astonished by the news that Asami and Mako came looking for me. I knew at that time they would be worried, but would they come looking for me when they should be safe here? That seemed quite wrong. Almost as wrong as the fact that Amon was alive and saved my life. "Amon is alive! "- I need to get used to these words ...

Wu directs me to wait for their return, since according to the same, the two left a few hours ago and soon they would return.

-Where have you been?- Wu asks.

-Long story ...- I think of starting to tell parts of what happened when Asami enters in exasperation.

- Wu, we did not find her, Mako thinks we should call the .... KORRA! -She gives me a serious look and then walks toward me. I dont know if she wanted to hug me or give me some punch, the two options seemed very plausible at the moment. My doubt ends when she hugs me.

- Where have you been?- I was worried.

-So were we, too.- Mako speaks .

-You would not believe me,- I say, and everyone looks at me curiously.

- How about trying? -Says Wu, sitting on one of the sofas in the room.

-I was with Amon ...- I begin.

-Korra, Amon's been dead for years. We read the reports, remember? -Mako says approaching.

- With Amon? Are you sure, my dear? - Asami asks, and I nod.

- Hm .. The guy came back from the dead. That's really interesting. How about telling the details? - Wu talks and everyone agrees.

In the next few minutes I tell them everything that has happened. From the encounter with the subject moments before the attack, until Amon hurled me against the wall and fled.

Everyone listens attentively to the story from start to finish and when I finish, I get confused stares.

-Guys, I know it sounds crazy, but trust me. That bastard is alive.

-We trust you, babes. - Asami says - Dont you, boys? - the boys shake their heads positively and then Mako gets up and walks toward the stairs.

-I think everyone's going to bed. Tomorrow Su and Bolin came to town bringing the suspect. We'd better be rested. And Korra, do not worry, we believe you, okay?" - Mako goes up the stairs and Wu goes next.

-Do you think I should tell Tenzin?- I ask Asami.

- I think we should sleep. Your day was full of surprises and so you deserve a rest, right?- I nod positively and stand up.

I better leave it to worry about it another time. Asami is right, the day was tiring and full of surprises. I need a shower and a good night's rest. Tomorrow I decide if I should tell anyone else.

wtf Amon help Korra? What is he up to? No spoiler, but there's so much bizarre to come

#the legend of korra #korrasami #korra #korra x asami #asami sato #mako #amon #fanfic #like wtf #avatar: tlok #tlok

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kaliiwashere · 5 years

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dm-of-elemental-evil · 7 years

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The Girl Thief, Chapter 2

Holmin has trained Mia in the craft of thievery and stealth for the past several years at Dal’s request, and she has proven to be a natural at it. But there are whispers of an organization looking for someone in Andoran, and Holmin has a direct confrontation with them.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie light over the skyline. The bells of Felwin Quarter echoed in the distance, tolling the curfew out to the city. Common folk and nobles alike made their ways to their homes and settled in for the night, content to close shop and keep their eyes on their wealth and belongings. Andoran was a town of thieves, first and foremost, and while Dalondrar was a thief of the day, Holmin and Mia were truly capers of the night. They strolled together across the rooftops, Holmin a few paces back, allowing Mia to take point.

Across the street, a masked figure lay across the edge of a chimney, lazily lifting a hand as greeting to the pair. Holmin raised his hand in response and Mia turned her head towards the man in acknowledgement. The dark purple of her kerchief wrapped over the lower half of her face blended with the shadows cast by the Tower of Fade. Holmin closed the gap between the two of them and tapped Mia’s shoulder. She paused, looking back towards him, and he made a few swift gestures.

Detour. Guard patrol. Forty paces ahead.

Mia nodded, adjusting her course slightly to the right and continued the journey to the Quon’Rath Quarter.

The city slept on, ignorant to the thieves on their rooftops. After nearly an hour of carefully picking their way across the clay shingles of the Felwin Quarter, the gated walls to Quon’Rath rose ahead of them. There was a tradesman’s workshop built flush with the brick of the walls that Mia and Holmin frequently used to reach the inside of the wealthy district.

“Same as always,” Holmin muttered. “Up you go, drop the rope. Difference this time though.”

Mia looked back, one eyebrow cocked in curiosity.

“This one is all you, Mia. I’ll keep an eye out on this side and you will be going straight for Lord Wren’s estate. If you run into anything that you can’t handle, you come back and get me. Got it?”

Mia nodded sharply, glad for the mask over her face to hide the smirk. This was her chance to prove herself, without Holmin’s assistance. They had been thieves together for almost six years, and only now was Holmin letting Mia do a job on her own. He crouched at the base of the wall and hoisted Mia’s small form over the edge, then settled in to wait.

Hours passed. Four guard patrols had passed through the gates to the Quon’Rath Quarter, Holmin’s only method of keeping track of the time. The fifth patrol did not arrive. That was Holmin’s first hint that something was amiss. Faintly, to his left, further down the wall from the gate, there were footsteps echoing across tiled rooftops. His hands went to the daggers hidden under his cloak, gripping the hilts of them and readying himself.

There was practically no warning. There was a slight thrum and Holmin ducked to avoid the crossbow quarrel that clattered against the brick. Coming out of a roll, Holmin flung one of the daggers in the direction of the shot. There was a thud of the blade meeting flesh and he grinned when he heard the body hit the cobbles twenty feet below. Two more shadowy figures were approaching from that side now, but the footsteps that Holmin heard told him that there were at least a half a dozen others climbing from other sides of the building.

I’m good, but I’m not that good.

He took the advantage, dashing towards the two that had already reached the roof. A shortsword, blackened by charcoal to mitigate the reflection of the moonlight, swung through the air from the one on the right. Holmin ducked the blow, letting it glance off of the reinforced leather mounted on his left shoulder as he savagely drove his dagger into the figure’s ribs. There was a grunt and Holmin quickly twisted the blade and pulled it out, crouching and dashing behind the falling form to avoid the blow of his comrade. The others had reached the rooftop battlefield now, and Holmin did not believe his chances to be good.

He quickly stepped over the prone body in front of him, using his free hand to grab the other’s wrist and stabbing his neck, using the force of the attack to pull the assailant to the ground. A crossbow bolt thudded into his shoulder, sending a dull throbbing pain through his arm and nearly forcing him to drop his dagger. He immediately began to run to the edge of the building, leaping across the street below and landing heavily on the roof on the other side. He rolled with the movement and immediately regretted it as his wounded shoulder scraped along the shingles.

Holmin pushed through the pain, coming to his feet and sprinting away. He had nearly reached the next street when a whirring noise reached his ears. It was too late for him to react, as the weighted chain entwined his ankles and he landed heavily on his chin. Groaning, he rolled over, struggling to free himself, but the cloaked figures had already reached him.

“You will be answering some questions for us, Holmin Taras.” The voice echoing from that hooded cowl was strange and alien, as though the speaker was underwater. “You will come with us.”

A sudden wave of exhaustion swept over Holmin, and a veil of dark blue bore him away from that rooftop.

“Mr. Taras. It would be beneficial for all of us if you would wake up now. Time is, as you might be aware, of the essence.”

Holmin stirred slowly. His fingers had lost some feeling, and he realized they had been roughly bound behind him, behind the chair on which he was seated. He twisted his wrists slightly, testing the knots and the tightness of the rope. It would be painful, but he had escaped from more difficult bonds, even at only fifteen years old.

Instead, however, he brought his gaze up to the individual staring down at him. The sneer on the elven man’s face was cruel, but the glint in his eyes belied a confident superiority. Long blonde hair, most of it pulled back to keep it from interfering, cascaded down the man’s back.

“I will ask you but once, Mr. Taras,” the man whispered softly. “Where is the heiress?”

The question brought legitimate confusion for Holmin.

“Who the hell is the heiress?”

The elf sighed. “You have been under the care of a dwarf. Certainly not going by his real name, but a confidence man and a thief nonetheless. He took someone from my mistress, and she wishes to have her property returned.”

“And what? Kill the dwarf?”

“Certainly not!” The elf looked mortified at the suggestion. “If he were willing, we would bring him into our employ. Such skills are very useful to one as influential as my mistress. But I digress.”

Holmin maintained a stoic glare throughout the conversation, despite straining against his bonds behind his back. He felt something about to give way and paused.

“And if I don’t know where this dwarf is?”

“Well, then I’ll leave you to a few of my compatriots. They could do with a little bit of practice.”

Four individuals stepped forward from around the room, each one horribly scarred and nearly unrecognizable. Black strips of cloth wound around their thighs and waists, wrapped loosely enough to afford full range of movement. Thick dark grey boots adorned each of their feet, and from the silence of their footfalls, Holmin suspected they were true thieves’ boots, with softly padded soles and bare tips for traction.

Holmin swung his gaze back up to the leader. Between strands of pale blonde hair, piercing blue eyes stared down at him. Cruelty. And hatred. And... devotion? Holmin scowled back. I never did pick up Dal’s gift for reading people. But I hope I still have a few years left to learn. “I don’t know anything about a dwarf.”

The elf sighed and made a gesture to the arranged men. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, Mr. Taras. We will find him ourselves, I suppose.” He spun on his heel, striding out of the room without so much as a glance back at where Holmin sat. If he had, he might have paused at the smirk that still graced the young half-elf’s lips. The door shut with a soft click behind him, and Holmin’s would-be killers advanced, each pulling out a knife.

Before they could react, Holmin had tugged at the ropes around his wrists and leaped from the chair. One of the blades swung to meet him, but his palm caught the assailant’s forearm as his knee rose to crush the man’s hip. There was a satisfying crack, and the man slumped to the side, temporarily losing his grip on the dagger. Holmin caught it and drove it into the thug’s neck, then quickly twisting around the quickly falling body.

The sharp pain in his abdomen told him that he hadn’t been quite quick enough, and as another knife slashed across his back, Holmin thought, not for the first time, that this might be the last day of his life. He shoved the unwelcome notion from his mind, instead focusing on the fight at hand.

Spinning around the first assailant’s cooling corpse put the other three in view. Two of their blades gleamed red in the low light, and Holmin’s eyes narrowed at them. I’ll be getting paid back for that in kind. The first of the three lunged forwards, his knife quickly closing the space between them, but Holmin was fast, and at a mere fifteen years old, he was smaller and more agile than the assassin in front of him. Holmin’s stolen dagger darted into the man’s chest, then back out and into the side of his rib cage. Dancing away, he managed to avoid the other two swipes coming from the second attacker, but the third individual took Holmin by surprise. He ducked under the man’s arm as he stabbed forward, but the assailant suddenly spun the hilt of the knife around and jabbed the blade into Holmin’s back, nearly driving it into his shoulder blade. He grunted at the blow, but then drove his own dagger through the soft flesh directly below the assassin’s chin. No sound escaped the man’s lips as he slumped to the ground, but the weight of his body dragged Holmin’s knife down with it.

The last man was advancing slowly, his mangled facial features peeling back in a grin. Holmin snarled, pulled his hand free and lunged forward, reaching for the thug’s ankles. He ducked at the last second to avoid the swipe of the blade, then grabbed one of the man’s legs and pulled it out from under him. One of the daggers had landed near him, and he quickly picked it up and plunged it into the assassin’s back three times in rapid succession. Panting, blood oozing from the various wounds on his body, Holmin stood.

Mia. Dal. They are in danger. I’ve got... a plan isn’t the right word. I’ve got an idea. He walked to the door, carefully pushing the large piece of worked iron open and peering outside. It opened to an expansive underground chamber, but it looked to be no more than another basement in the city. The size of it made him think it might be the Sky District, but he would need to be outside in order to know for sure. He smiled as he looked in the corner of the room. His belongings, piled like rubbish among the gathered equipment of an untold number of others. They’ve been busy. Fingers crossed... All of his gear seemed to be present, including, much to Holmin’s pleasure, three carefully packed vials of alchemist’s fire. Mia... Holmin’s smile was tinged with sadness. I’ll protect you. And... I’m sorry.

Holmin gathered his equipment and made his way outside. The rest of the building held minimal hints, but for a single note left on the main floor, presumably for the four men whose lives he had just ended. “Claw, return to Katheer. The dwarf will wait another day. Maintain vigil for hints to the heiress’ whereabouts.”

Holmin grinned, tossing one of the vials in his hand. I’ll see you some day, Mia. I promise. Without looking, he flung the glass-encased flame behind him, then left the city.

#The Unbranded Rebellion #Holmin Blue Taras #Mia #And I would write Mia's last name in the tags #It's finally here #enjoy

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hentaigamer594 · 3 years

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This budget action RPG feels directed at people who fight to become by way of complex games.

It's tough to separate talking about hentai games from talking exactly the other games as the developer has demonstrably produced a love correspondence to popular game's job. However, hentai games isn't a simple retread. It adds mechanics and ideas that alter your way of believing regarding its duelist-style beat. hentai games can be really a small game, demanding not as much the expense of frustration and time. It feels tuned for casual people --those who've been interested in this brand of knowledge, however, that maybe struggled in the twitch responses department--while still hitting all the exact same essential nerves.

You play a faceless, voiceless staying more akin to a soul than a individual, that leaves exactly what seems like always a sort of astral plane in order to enterprise in to a sterile, poisonous planet. You can find satisfy various personalities that give typically spooky, mysterious addresses concerning the gradual degradation of the world and the religious zealots who populate it. Practically, only about anyone you come round wants to murder you, and also in your snowy spirit-ish form, you are little match on these one struck will ruin you. To live, you want a greater human body, and this is the point where the name hentai games arises from. You might be ready to occupy the corpses, or shells, of some hard warriors that you will find on the road, which produce you just a little more likely to instant death. The 4 shells from the game each perform with a bit differently in one another, giving a set of different personality assembles you can swap between while you play. Each has unique special perks you can unlock at an typically way by spending currencies you get from killing enemies--monies you're able to permanently eliminate if you're killed and usually do not recover them by the own dead body. The four shells maintain hentai games 1, as you just need to learn to manage each (or your favorite), rather than stress about acquiring the stats of an rpg style personality develop. Combat at hentai games owes its own inherent essentials to additional matches, operating in almost the exact very same fashion. You've got a faster light strike and a more rapid deep strike, and a backstep that you can convert to some roll to regenerate your enemies. Howmuch you can swing your sword and the number of situations you may dodge are dictated by means of a endurance gauge, which quickly refills when you are maybe not swinging out or rolling out like angry.

Gleam parry and riposte that is almost just like famous attack, but having a various essential function. In the event that you may time a parry correctly, the riposte strike you purchase subsequently simplifies wellness, which makes it that the absolute most reliable means to cure your self in the game--otherwiseif you are reliant on consumable goods that you find round the whole world. You can't trigger the parry unless you build up a meter, but which you are by dealing damage. While harden is actually a defensive skill that offers you options to get waiting and letting your opponents come at you, the procedure compels you to be more aggressive, landing strikes and making parries which means that you may stay alive.

The thing which puts hentai games apart from its inspirations could be the"harden" skill, anything intrinsic into your spiritual form that you bring to all of these shells that you occupy. When you harden, you turn into rock, permitting one to tank a winner until the rock breaksup. Blocking a bang with harden will also usually stagger your opponent because their blow bounces you off personally, setting them slightly off-balance. Harden has a quick cooldown, which means you can not put it to use --it's meant for strategic activations, particularly as you're confronting a volley of blows or even when you are at the center of one's own attack animation. You can start a swing and then harden midway through, dismissing your competitions' strikes and that means that you can property your own personal. The harden ability gives a completely new collection of key strategies to hentai games overcome. Hardening permits you to turn yourself into a Trojan Horse, baiting your enemies to strike you and that means you're able to get in under their shield. Notably with tougher bosses, the trick to victory is all but to harden yourself and that means you can evaluate a hit when you'd otherwise be eviscerated. Utilized mid-fight, it may permit you to scatter your way by enemies, maintaining your own string of devastating blows going although rapping your victim off-balance and mitigating any punishment your own aggression could earn you. Harden makes hentai games Comb At setting and deliberate, and along with a exact forgiving dodge that renders one nigh-on invincible, also reduces hentai games difficulty--without of necessity tipping off you that the game is less brutal than its inspirations. And that seems to function as that the alchemy the programmer is about to get. hentai games seems as a great game, forcing one to create abilities, examine enemies, carefully distribute resources, also intelligently mix aggressive and defensive play. Nevertheless, additionally it is one at which you are able to dodge by means of basically any enemy strike or dismiss them entirely by means of evaluate a free strike. These skills allow beat to feel intense almost all of time at hentai games, but the match does not expect you to spend hours defeating one boss. The large draw back of hentai games overcome process is that it really is easy to grow to be overly hooked upon hardening to gradually chip away at enemies and bosses, one piece at a time. 1 boss fight comes down into virtually turning to rock, landing on a hit, subsequently dodging in order to steer clear of any reprisals, also repeating that procedure for five or even 10 minutes until it really is all over. This combination is really a viable solution in several of the fights from the game, also it may turn conflicts against some of your tougher opponents in to protracted, plodding slogs where you never feel as if you are in any true danger. And while you buy yourself a smattering of shells and weapons, there are unquestionably significant benefits for adhering with only one of each and every for most of a jog since possible unlock damage and upgrades rises. I'd loved to have spent time with all the massive Martyr Blade and also even the fire-infused Smoldering Mace, however being comfortable together with the first sword you come making it much more dependable for profitable fights along with averting the punishment of departure. hentai games big focus out of combat is on quest, and it's part of every single additional system of this match. You may spend most of your time exploring the world, so that as you do, you will so on happen around its a few temples that are huge, which stand alone like Zelda-like dungeons and house three Sacred Glands that you want to assert from your directors within just. Just about every temple is markedly different from others also provides some magnificent, ingenious locales to fight throughout, for example a profound, icy cave, and a flaming crypt, and a twisted obsidian tower which would be right at home in a match such as Control or Destiny 2. Just about every spot feels specific into the challenges within just, and exploring them will be a treat as you are rewarded using lore and weapon upgrades for assessing every corner. You are maybe not just investigating the physiological space of hentai games, however what you will find there. This succeeds in a different system, which empowers one to try the items that you run across from the match and to deepen your understanding of those. You may possibly get a bizarre mushroom, even a hunk of meat that is rotten, or even perhaps a heap of suspicious moonshine, nevertheless, you also wont know the way any can affect you personally until you things them on your face. Utilizing an item uncovers its possessions, however, continuing to utilize it builds mana, rendering it longer efficient. You are able to even build mana with trivial goods --work with a little lute sufficient occasions and you'll get excellent at taking part in with it, though it serves no purpose apart from to be controlled by a quick piece of songs and possibly entertain the occasional non-player personality.

The method pays off experimentation and promotes your curiosity, helping to ground you in hentai games entire world in a few cool ways. Snacking on the mushroom made me then immediately killed in one early fight, but afterwards eating a couple additional (even though my better judgment), my mana made poison mushrooms give me toxin resistance. You discover Effigy things which permit you to switch between shells while you're out in the Earth, however also you take damage each single time you summon you --if you don't construct mana together with the effigies, which cuts back on the penalty. You also can unlock extra lore tidbits on items that the further you use them, to further play-up the feeling that you're studying hentai games earth as you wander throughout it. You even can learn more about the shells that you see, which is where the drip feed of hentai games story generally resides. Since you uncover perks for the cubes, you're treated to"glimpses" in their past lives and the people that they were, that reveal links to additional personalities you strike and offer you a bit of information about what's going on in the world throughout your cubes' experiences. In typical fashion, but you'll need to help make the major jumps on your , and after 1 run throughout the match, I am uncertain the narrative actually comes together into anything much coherent compared to the usual whole lot of intriguing lore tidbits from shells, item descriptions, and limited snatches of dialogue. And it's really actually a few of the exploration which hentai games Madness most. The swampy universe that connects the dungeons all tends to look exactly the same, with few hints regarding where one segment is in relationship to the next, or how they link together. Now you just have to get at those 3 temples to advance the game, and yet I drifted about for a while seeking to find the appropriate path forward, usually inadvertently reverted back over ground I had by now covered, or twisting up right back where I started out. There are also instances when enemy placement can really feel frustrating or cheap. hentai games wants to familiarize you with combatants you can not see till they arrive, so much so that it's easy to receive overrun at some things, forcing you to run back through big, puzzling areas that can feel as a drag. hentai games is designed to put you through a gauntlet whenever transparent a dungeon, forcing you to run back all the way into the starting time whilst confronting a brand new onslaught of enemies, and save things are only distant enough that dying feels irritatingly prohibitive if you make an error or get caught at some corner. Together with hentai games placing a premium onto healing products, you are able to readily find yourself fresh outside of roasted rats along with medicinal mushrooms, which makes you to much related to a blessed break to make the journey into the next checkpoint.

Nevertheless, hentai games succeeds much more usually than not at capturing the specific feelings inherent to games that are great. The spins it adds to the mechanisms perform very well to help this sort of game turned into more approachable than many, even though retaining exactly precisely the exact atmosphere of mystery and foreboding that makes the genre itself intriguing. hentai games makes to get a powerful introduction, a demo for new players regardless of what many are finding so intriguing about other matches and those like them. However, hentai games can be a lovingly crafted, strange, and ridiculously deep match on its own proper that rewards one for wandering its twisted trails and hard its own deadliest foes.

#video games #video game #games #mobile games #android games #pc games #online games

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jeichanhaka · 4 years

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The Robbed That Smiles

Chapter Eight

“That could’ve gone better.” Stephen Strange muttered as he portalled himself and Thor from the government office, neither of them having wanted to fight against people who weren’t their enemies or at least shouldn’t be. The sorcerer sighed.

“We tried things your way, wizard. This country’s government doesn’t even care that my brother is innocent this time. They just want the Tesseract.” Thor growled, furious as he stepped out from Strange’s portal; it took a moment for him to notice the alarm in the sorcerer’s eyes. Or the way Strange tensed, his gaze darting over their surroundings. “Wizard, what is…”

Strange raised his hand in a be quiet gesture, shushing the thunder god. His own gaze roaming over the room - the main room of the Sanctum where he entertained and evaluated guests, especially those he’d considered less than secure. A secure location, safe. It wasn’t however, where he’d expected to portal into - his destination had been the Sanctum library. “This isn’t right.”

Irritated at being shushed, Thor started to criticize his colleague, but faltered as he watched Strange. Watched as the sorcerer armed his magic, the glint in his eyes one of a warrior expecting an assault. It immediately made Thor brace for an attack, expecting an enemy to lunge out at them.

“The Sanctuary spell’s been broken.” Continued Strange, observing the Sanctum cautiously even as he strode forward; his senses keen for any sign of an enemy as well as his fellow sorcerer Wong. His gut and the state of the Sanctum warning him of a dangerous threat.

“...I thought you said that was impossible.” Thor glared at the sorcerer, his concern immediately switching to what this meant for his brother. It was less worry for his brother - aside from his fellow Avengers, none of the Midgardians would be able to really harm Loki - and more worry about what the mischief god might do if pushed. What his brother might construe as reasonable self-defense, the Midgardian government would likely consider cause enough to demand Loki be imprisoned. Or exiled.

“It is. At least for the soldiers who were waiting outside.” Strange hurried into the hall, quickly noticing the signs of struggle. And the humanoid body lying comatose just below the window at the end of the corridor. Immediately he approached the unconscious stranger, not needing much to realize that whoever it was, was incapacitated due to the Sanctuary spell. That fact however did nothing to lessen his concern. The spell may have worked, but the stranger’s location meant one thing. “...it was breached from inside. Whoever broke the Sanctuary spell, did so from inside the Sanctum.”

“What are you saying, wizard?” Bristled Thor, immediately assuming his colleague was about to blame his brother. After all, nearly every Midgardian he met today had done likewise, whether justified or not. “If you think Loki…”

“Relax. I know it wasn’t your brother.” Strange interrupted the thunder god and continued searching the upstairs rooms. “There are security safeguards in place to inform me if he tries and succeeds at breaching any of the Sanctum’s defences. It wasn’t him. I’ve set similar safeguards for Miss Lokki, as well.”

“Then who…” Thor’s brow creased, but before he could say anything more, or voice a suspicion that hissed in his thoughts, Strange noticed the physical breach through the Sanctum wall. Straight through his sleeping quarters, and adjacent to the library. It took little time for the Midgardian wizard to check the breach and notice the monk, lying unconscious in the wreckage outside.

“Wong!” Strange hurried to his friend and fellow sorcerer, Thor following behind him until a noise drew the thunder god to a different direction.

Tense and worried about Loki - both his brother and his brother’s female doppelganger - Thor quickened towards where he heard the noise. The sound was that of someone in pain, whimpering and breathing heavily. Somewhere in his subconscious he realized it was a stranger whimpering, but that mattered little - despite the fact that the stranger would likely be one of the Sanctum’s attackers.

“Are you….” Thor coughed and covered his nose, stricken by the stench greeting him as much as by the cowering man’s whimpers. His eye widened gawking at the stranger, his gut burbling at the bloody sight of the Midgardian’s fingers. It tightened and his breath hitched as the god noticed the cuts on the stranger’s cheeks and the severely frostbitten skin around the man’s throat.

“Loki...” He subconsciously muttered, though whether he meant his brother or his brother’s female counterpart, not even he was sure. At least after his initial assumption passed - shoved aside when the stranger started struggling to breathe; The frostbite damage taking its toll, along with the shock, as the numbness caused by the cold wore off. It took just a handful of seconds for the stranger to succumb to his injuries. “...what have you done?”

“Nice to see how quickly you assume I’m at fault.” His brother’s voice interrupted and the mischief god appeared suddenly behind Thor, the magic that had obscured him from view dispelled. Scowling down at the thunder god, who’d knelt to check on the Midgardian’s injuries, he waited and stood regally over Thor, arms behind his back, the look on his face immoveable. After a moment he shrugged. “He and his buddies attacked - what do you expect I’d have done?” Loki inquired peering down at his brother, whose face reflected an inner conflict. It wasn’t difficult to follow his brother’s thought process - here was a dead Midgardian bearing injuries that couldn’t be attributed simply to combative self-defense. But could to him. “Judging by your rather obvious displeasure at me, things didn’t go well meeting with the Midgardians.”

Thor sighed, his brother’s observation reminding him of what agent Morfield had said about the Tesseract, as well as what Strange had quickly realized: That the Midgardians were right about the artifact’s presence, but were going after the wrong god for it.

“If it’ll help you could tell them this...person…” Loki gestured to the dead stranger while keeping his full contempt for the worm hidden from his face. “Endangered a pregnant guest of the Sanctum.”

The thunder god’s eyes widened, alarm filling him, though it was tempered by his experience with his brother’s lying. “He attacked Sis?”

Loki sighed and rolled his eyes. “Selfie’s fine. I’m just giving you a way to help mitigate things for me. Regardless of what the Midgardians think of me or why they refuse to see sense with this statue nonsense, accusing one of their mercenaries of endangering an unborn child will certainly work to my...our advantage.”

“Sis wasn’t attacked then?” Asked Thor, completely unsure of his brother’s verity. On one hand his brother sounded truthful but on the other his gut screamed at him otherwise. It didn’t help matters when Loki simply shrugged dismissively in response and repeated his explanation. “Loki...if Sis was hurt…”

“If Miss Lokki was endangered, the suppression cuffs I placed on her would release and allow her to freely use her magic to protect herself.” Strange interrupted, having finished helping Wong and questioning him about the identity of the Sanctum’s attacker. The moment his friend and colleague had mentioned Mordo, he was shocked. Although he had expected to have to deal with his ex-colleague at some point, he never expected the man to aid the government’s move on Loki. “More importantly,” He continued after checking on the dead stranger, noting the man’s injuries and ascertaining that the stranger was truly deceased. “Where is Mordo - the third attacker? And the soldiers who were waiting to ambush the Sanctum, where did they go?” Turning his attention to Loki, he asked the liar god who simply shrugged. A response that satisfied neither Thor nor Strange.

Thor grimaced sternly at his brother. ��Loki…”

“I have zero idea what happened to the Midgardian soldiers. I was dealing with -” Loki gestured to the dead man lying on the floor. “This thing while whatever happened between them, shield-boy, and that other wizard happened.” He paused, mulling over something before asking Strange directly. “Seriously, just how many wizards does Midgard have?”

“Enough.” Replied Strange, leering at Loki and expressing through non-verbal communication his unspoken threat. That there were enough sorcerers on Earth to deal with the mischief god, either to banish him or seal him away if he became a problem. Loki just shrugged and rolled his eyes, dismissing the nonverbal threat. “What happened to Mordo - the ‘other wizard’ as you so eloquently put it?” Strange asked, sardonically emphasizing the word ‘eloquently’ - which prompted the silvertongue god to scowl at him.

“No clue. Now, if we’re done, I’ll just…” Loki paused and rolled his eyes when Thor reached for his arm, the thunder god’s hand going right through the mischief god’s illusion. “...Really?” He shook his head at his brother’s annoyed yet still surprised look. “You’re pissed off. The Sanctum is...well…” He gestured around at the Sanctum, emphasizing its current condition. “Did you honestly expect me to stick around to be blamed for shit?”

Thor gaped and then started to refute his brother’s assumption, only for Loki to scoff.

“Sure you wouldn’t.” Said the mischief god sarcastically. “Remind me how long it took before your Avenger buddies convinced you I was lying about leaving the Tesseract in Asgard three years ago? A week?” Loki spat, giving his brother a look that exactly matched the attitude and irritation in his words. It soon morphed into one of curiosity as Strange and Thor both reacted at his mention of the Tesseract. He glanced from one man to the other, gauging their reactions, his brain quickly zeroing in on a possible reason. “Don’t tell me that this - that the Midgardians wanting to imprison me is all because of the bloody Tesseract.” Loki growled, becoming more furious with every word. “I should’ve bloody fucking taken it then, if this is what I’m to deal with for the rest of my bloody....”

“Hate to interrupt the quality family time,” Stark interrupted through one of his iron suits, having sent it to the Sanctum to check on things. It arrived just seconds into the mischief god’s tirade, in time to catch mention of the Tesseract. “But there are more pressing concerns to deal with now other than debating whether the liar god lied or not.”

“And what…” Strange started to ask, stopping when Loki dispelled the projection of himself without another word. He scowled, but also rolled his eyes, at the huffyness of mischief god’s exit. Thor, though, didn’t share the same sentiment and nearly rounded on the sorcerer for it.

“Wiz…”

“Now isn’t the time for this.” Stark cut across Thor. “Tell me Rogers is with you. Or that he’s somewhere nearby.” The inventor implored, before groaning when both Thor and Strange shook their heads. “Fuckin…” He muttered, before telling his fellow Avengers to come to the tower asap.

~0~

It was dark. And the space around him felt heavy, the air - it was difficult to breathe, difficult to do anything but gasp repeatedly for air that barely satisfied his body’s need for oxygen. His heart raced in his chest as Rogers realized this, and it took all his willpower to not go into a full-blown panic and thus lessen the effectiveness of his breaths even further.

He floundered around in the darkness around him, reaching out for any sort of handhold or structure or rock, etc. Anything to help him get his bearings and give him some idea where he was. The only thing he could tell was that he was on some surface - he was standing after all, even if he couldn’t see what it was he was standing on. Nor could he see any walls around him, but understood from the claustrophobic feeling in his gut that he was in an enclosed space. Yet when he reached out - there was nothing.

“Hello?” He called out roughly, as it was a struggle to get in enough oxygen with the air so heavy. It took him a few gasps afterwards before he managed to continue. His legs felt shaky and his heart thumped harshly. “Is anyone here?”

There was no answer and he started to step forward, his vision still overwhelmed by the heavy blackness surrounding him. Before he made it a step - barely seconds before the foot he’d lifted forward to begin his walk landed back down onto whatever surface he was standing on - someone grabbed him. By the shoulders, stopping his movement forward.

His reaction was immediate. Grabbing for the hands of whoever it was, he pulled them off him and spun around. Ready to face whoever or whatever it was that had grabbed him. (The hands he’d pulled off his shoulders felt strange, inhuman but humanoid, as well as cold and hard.) It took him a moment to realize that he could see nothing of the thing that had grabbed him. His hand was still clasped around their wrists, but he saw nothing. The darkness was that absolute.

“That way is death. You do not want to go there.” The creature spoke, its voice human but with an odd tone and cadence. The sort that was produced using computers. It was then that he realized whatever had grabbed him was some sort of robot, with the inhumanness of its limbs being due to being made from metals and plastics rather than flesh.

“Then where?” He asked and then took another few gasps for air, his head starting to throb from the low oxygen.

“Please refrain from speaking. The space-pocket you are in does not contain enough oxygen rich air to sustain conversation.”

“Space…” Rogers barely managed to say before the robot shushed him, repeating its warning. Feeling lightheaded and with a headache pounding full blast inside his skull, he decided to heed the machine’s warning. Though he had so many questions he wanted to ask.

“Good. Now step towards me. I will guide you. Just do not let go of my arms.” The robot replied and proceeded to do as it said it would; Rogers felt uneasy just going along with the stranger - the chances it was leading him into danger were high. But considering his only alternative was asphyxiating in the low oxygen environment, he took the gamble that if the robot led him to danger, he could fight it off. Unless the robot was leading him into an even worse environment.

His stomach clenched as he considered that possibility, and he nearly ripped his arms away from the robot - the machine had clamped onto his wrists on their way forward, perhaps out of some sort of AI foresight. He stopped when the first waff of oxygen-rich air hit him and he sucked in a breath immensely relieved. The light was the next thing he noticed - it wasn’t bright or shining, but he could finally make out his own hands and the barest outlines of his surroundings.

Including the robots hands, which were more human-like than he expected. As he continued forward, following his guide, he noticed how realistic the robot was. Realistic skin, limb portions, muscular composition - everything was uncannily real, and when they were in full light, he could see no evidence that the creature was anything but human.

He stared at the robot or android, his curiosity piqued. Five and a half foot tall, sporting dark umber hair, skin a mix of snow and ochre, and dressed in a leather and tweed outfit, the android stopped walking and motioned forward. Rogers barely even noticed. “How…”

“Hey! Hey!! Tin-can!” Someone called out, shouting until the android turned towards them.

“My name is not ‘Tin-can.’ It is Fen. Address me as such or not at all.”

“Whatever.” The person muttered before barraging the android with questions in regard to the man’s colleagues: questions along the lines of how long they would be unconscious and if the first aid applied to them was sufficient. Rogers just listened quietly behind the android, unnoticed by the man, until it clicked in his head who the other human was.

“Wait.” Rogers interrupted the other’s barrage of questions, stepping into the other’s view. “ You’re one of the soldiers that attacked the Sanctum.”

“W...You?! How…the flipping hell are you here?!” The soldier exclaimed and tensed, instinctively shifting into a defensive position while glancing for his firearm. The item in question lay on a bench table about thirty feet away, too far to be of use even if Rogers was a normal human.

“Relax. I’m not here to fight.” Rogers held up his hands in a gesture that matched his words, emphasising his lack of hostility. “I’m as clueless as you. I don’t even know where or what this place is.”

“This is the Arboretum.” Replied the android, Fen, while pointing to the trees, shrubs, and ferns. Many of which, on closer inspection weren’t actually there. Enough were real to account for the oxygen rich environment, but most others were illusionary. The ‘sun’ too was fake, nothing but a light source suspended high above them. “The ship is yet to be named.”

“...Ship?” Rogers asked, despite already having a guess to what the android meant, and when Fen unshuttered a window showing the dark, star-spattered expanse surrounding them outside, the Avenger simply stared out. “Space. We’re in space.” He muttered while Fen left, the android heading towards where the injured soldiers were. The uninjured soldier followed closely behind, barely bothering with the Avenger.

Rogers approached closer to the window, staring out at the stars in awe, his eyes scanning for any familiar constellations or such. Any hint suggesting that they were in space around Earth and not in a vastly foreign part of space as he feared in his gut. The more his gaze searched the expanse, the more he realized he recognized none of the stars or the constellations they made up.

He tensed, his thoughts on Mordo and what the sorcerer was doing - although the man had been truthful when saying the soldiers he’d portalled away weren’t dead, that didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat. Mordo had known about the female Lokki after all, despite the Avengers keeping a lid on that fact about the woman. Keeping it secret from the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D, and only revealing it to a few of their own number. Mainly only those Avengers who’d been in New York the day Lokki appeared.

No one else should’ve known her identity.

(Even if S.H.I.E.L.D or any other government agencies knew of the goddess’ presence, Stark had crafted an explanation for Lokki’s sudden appearance, along with a false identity. It should’ve taken a while - at least a few weeks longer for anyone to see through it. Even longer, considering how focused the government seemed to be on Loki.)

Rogers grimaced, giving up searching for familiar constellations and instead reaching for the communicator Stark had made for and given to each of the team. It was only as he pressed the transmit button and got only static that he remembered it had gotten damaged recently. During a mission. Just that morning he’d been planning on giving it back to Stark to repair, only to be distracted helping Thor.

“I’m not sure if any of you will get this.” Rogers spoke into the communicator anyways, not confident on it reaching his fellow Avengers, but figuring it was worth the try. “I’m on some ship, in some part of space that I have no idea where. Some wizard who attacked the Sanctum portalled me here. Along with some US soldiers.” He paused and walked towards a more secluded spot, something about his environment making him feel uneasy. “The wizard is after Lokki - the female one. He knows about her. Considering her pregnant condition, she should be guarded.”

He concluded his message, the uneasy feeling grown stronger. To combat it, he walked around the Arboretum and then through a doorway behind one of the few real trees. At first he thought it headed to a corridor, but it was simply a walk-in closet or storage. Albeit one with a computer and small desk tucked in the far corner. There was another door beside the desk, locked. That wasn’t what caught his eye - or rather his ear.

It was the computer. Its monitor was pitch for some reason, but the speakers were on and their audio clear, if a bit low. Straining to hear the audio, Rogers leaned in and held his breath. The voice unmistakably that of Stark.

-“...if the worst happens. If none of us make it. If he kills all of us, then…” There was a pause, Stark’s voice lowering a bit. “Lokki, you need to...”-

“What are you doing here?” Fen interrupted, the android’s voice drowning out that of Stark’s. “This area is off limits to all but Lokki. She will be furious if she sees you here on her return.” The android ushered Rogers out of the tiny room, its voice too loud for the Avenger to make out anything else on the recording. And its strength beyond what the man expected. “If the Arboretum is not to your liking, perhaps the Library or the Lounge will be?”

“I…” Rogers stopped resisting; Stark’s voice and words echoing in his ears, along with the android’s. He may not have caught all of the recording, but he understood much more than just a minute ago. Just from listening to the pronoun the android used. “This is her universe. Miss Lokki’s.”

“This ship belongs to Lokki, yes.” Fen replied and tilted its head, not understanding Rogers’ emphasis on the universe being Lokki’s. “The universe belongs to no one.”

“That’s not what…” Rogers tried to explain, but the android just hurried off after pointing briefly towards a set of doors that the man assumed led to the aforementioned library and lounge. He sighed and glanced towards the makeshift medic area where the android was once again dealing with the soldiers. Partly tempted to see if he could help, he considered going over, but decided not after overhearing the android tell the uninjured soldier that his fellows just needed to rest. That there was nothing else to do.

“This is just great.” Rogers muttered with a tinge of sarcasm, wondering if he should walk around the Arboretum - perhaps try to reenter the room with the computer again - or instead explore other parts of the ship. Despite the android’s more-than expected strength and such, he knew he could make it back to the room quick enough to glean much more from the recording. Perhaps hear the whole thing and maybe figure out more about the frost giantess, like what exactly happened to her universe or how she got to theirs. It’d be useful and he could reach it before the android could stop him. But…

‘Fen is helping the soldiers, if I distract him and something goes wrong with one of them…’ The Avenger sighed, quickly deciding to wait until the unconscious soldiers were better before risking distracting the android. ‘Maybe I’ll find something elsewhere on the ship that’ll be useful? Perhaps something that’ll help get us back home.’ He thought while pushing the button on one of the doors, judging it to be the library due to the book design etched onto it.

“Grrrr.” A sharp growl the second the door opened caused Rogers to bristle and freeze, even more so when the growling became a roar. Not a long or loud roar, but a menacing one. His eyes quickly searched for the origin - and nearly jumped out of their sockets when they found it.

A bristling bear, with grizzled fur and coal eyes, glared at him from three bookshelves away. It growled at him, watching him and waiting.

“Oh boy.” Rogers muttered, smiling nervously at the creature. His brain gone blank from the combination of shock and confusion seeing the bear. The last thing he’d expected was encountering a bear in a library on a ship in the middle of space. “Lokki certainly has interesting taste in pets.”

“Grahhh!” The bear roared viciously at the word pet and stood on its hindlegs, making itself much more menacing.

“Sorry! Not a pet.” Said Rogers on reflex, not realizing until the bear settled down and he sighed in relief that the creature understood him. “Wait...you understand what I’m saying?” He asked, to which the bear replied with a softer growl that seemed to be saying ‘yes.’ To clinch it the creature moved its head clumsily in a nodding gesture. Afterwards it started walking away down one of the aisles, not giving Rogers any more mind. “What in the….” He shook his head and mumbled before deciding to leave the library and try the lounge, not keen on reading with a bear sauntering through the aisles like some sort of beastly librarian.

He was just about to exit, his hand centimeters from pressing the button controlling the door, when a shockwave rippled through the ship.

#marvel #marvel mcu #mcu #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#loki #thor #oc #steve rogers #tony stark #the avengers #alternate universe #canon divergence #parallel universe #female loki

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trad-masculine · 4 years

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Development & Trauma.

(I don't really find the concept of trigger warnings to be done well. The idea of filtering based on emotion & empathy load is good. Especially with social media, this kind of thing is necessary.

The popular format, however is quite disruptive, and emphasizes the harm produced by the reference, instead of minimizing it. The trigger warning pre-set someone's trauma response, thus amplifying it, not reducing it. Trigger warnings in the tags are helpful as a filter. A vague preamble to a difficult topic, preparing someone to confront said difficult topic, generally without direct reference, is also quite productive, as it prepares the mind to face something difficult or to choose to divert in a way that builds curiosity & resilience to dive in at some future state, instead of a habit of immediate diversion & amplyfing fear and trauma.

Whereas a TW: topic near the title. Is not a harm reduction process, it is a virtue signal. The habits it builds are counter productive and harmful.)

I had an interesting discussion/spat with a colleague today. I'm not certain how to tell the story in way of translation from my life to this blog here.

The topic was tickling by way of humor, of all things. I was off the cuff mentioning the relationship of tickling to humor as processing vulnerability, was perhaps sloppy about it (it was after 8pm on a video call).

Laughter is intangled with threat/stress response mitigation. Tickling is stimulating vulnerable parts of the body to trigger a sensation overload that causes a convulsive fit of giggling. The "game" of tickling is deeply intertwined with the dynamics of the play-fight developmental pathway. Something I'm deeply interested in, as I believe it fundamental to understanding and resolving the cultural problems facing humanity in modern times.

My brief venture onto this tangent was taken poorly & misunderstood. Soon began a discussion in the sidebar, where I had to defend myself from accusation of not being researched on the subject and the related tangent to tickling that came up, child abuse. It was a messy and emotionally charged near fight in the chat over this, almost entirely misunderstanding. Quite frustrating to deal with in the middle of a large call.

But personal drama aside. There is an important frame of thinking to unpack here, which i didn't venture into at the time, as it was a sidebar discussion and not the main topic, but which I do feel the need to express fully. It also relates to tradition, parenting, childhood and adulthood.

There's a point, which is fair, about tickling as a vector for sexual abuse, in the sense that any adult-child touch can be expanded pathologically, and moreso in that tickling especially pushes physical boundaries and comfort.

That's the point, though. To push physical boundaries and comfort. That's not a pathology of tickling, but the evolutionary purpose to it. It's part of the play-fight suite, which is the developmental toolkit we posses to learn reciprocity & negotiation, along with setting and managing physical and emotional and power dynamic boundaries. Play-fighting dynamics and bullying are deeply intertwined.

What we call bullying is partly a healthy behavioral outgrowth of the play-fight suite, and partly a pathology. We severely lack the necessary cultural themes around play-fight dynamics to properly identify and correct behavior in the bullying realm.

The play-fight suite evolved long before language, its perhaps hundreds of million years old, at least in its origins. Language vastly changes the dynamic. We haven't fully adjusted yet, so, childhood and human interactions in general, are especially difficult to navigate. Language is a landscape full of trickery we need to grasp and learn defenses to, so verbal sparing is an essential part of development. But just like with physical conflict there are honorable ways to win a sparing match, and ways that are cheating.

We intuitively grasp what is unfair in a physical fight or specifically a sparing match. Biting, face punching, risking a joint, ganging up, kicking when they're down. Part of the purpose of a proper sparing match is to restore mutual honor. With an audience, an honorable losser is more respected than a dishonorable winner. This leads to reciprocal respect, and eventually to healing of the feud. A proper fight in the form of an honorable sparing match can turn enemies into friends. But it requires a healthy & carefully balanced culture around the dynamic.

The same is true for verbal sparing. We have a concept of honorable debate, even if the culture of debate is nearly dead, and deeply pathologized. We have a concept of the truth, an objective of winning, which can allow for reconciliation. This is separate from winning the sparing match, which is an important distinction, both parties can easily and often are wrong in the broader sense.

The problem I see is there is no clear pathway to manage fair & unfair tactics in the argument. We lack verbal intuitions. Say intuitions of fairness we have generalized from standard sparing are poorly or untrained because we have banned physical sparing. What is unfair varies person to person. A self report of unfairness can be reversed & weaponized itself.

I suspect the unwritten rules of a live rap battle would provide great insight in the verbal sparing, but that's an aside.

The real point is the need to transfer between physical and verbal sparing and the negotiation of fairness and boundaries of both. Actual physical fights even as sparing are not necessarily the right solution, given that play-fighting in the literal sense is training for violence, and violence is not what we want in society. As a point of note, this is separate from ritualized sparing, as in a dojo, which is almost certainly good, as it is heavily bounded by restraint.

Tickling is obviously the kind of interaction that bridges the gap, and presents the reciprocity and negotiation needed to build respect and bonding of mutual physical honor & deviousness (in the sense of cunning; g good fighter tricks their opponent, creates an opening and wins. This is not dishonorable.) what is dishonorable is taking an opening that has been barred before the fight, generally by mutual safety and custom.

Rough housing allows kids to discover the boundary between play and harm, fun & pain in a safe way while they're young and (mostly) impervious to actually injury. So much practical harm reduction is available through the rough housing pathway, as a learning a developmental tool. The evolutionary purpose is so clear and developmental necessity of building blocks that come from the play-fight suite are so relevant to our modern problems. It's tragic that the world of children is so saturated with well intentioned mistakes.

There are two frames of mistakes here trying to totally control the developmental environment because x is bad and should be prevented. Minimization is good, but prevention is nearly impossible and deranging. The other failed frame is just letting the natural process unfold without intervention. There's a path dependance problem with our developmental suite. We are evolved for our past, we must develop for our future. We should be curating our children's developmental environment to bring out the best from their developmental suite. Not shut down whole components of it because that aspect can potentially cause harm.

We need to understand what children are doing as they come into fuller being. Childhood is magical, but it should not be seen as a magical period. We can understand it, and bring the best out of it. This is different from making it better, which is folly.

Childhood is emergent, children are half equipped with what they need to become healthy adults, they need guidance, not rules to make the best transition. Not that rules are bad, rules are very valuable. But what we fail to realize is that a rule represents a problem that hasn't been fully solved. A rule is like a wall that prevents you from falling down a ravine. A bridge is a full solution, allowing you to be safe and cross the ravine.

We have so many rules and taboos and a lack of physical play, fighting, interaction, tickling and conflict in childhood that an entire generation is struggling with basic social negotiation in adulthood. There are many people of both genders who in essence cannot have a relationship because they do not have any of the physical grounding needed to negotiate a relationship, dating, kissing, cuddling and yes, sex.

Boys too afraid of crossing boundaries to push them, and so cannot make progress. Girls who don't know their own boundaries, and so don't feel comfortable letting the boundary be probed, or conversely don't know when to say no to themselves or to others. Boys who don't know their own boundaries, and so can't stand up for themselves in the social sphere. Or their future selves, devoling into the ever darker world of porn.

This is a lot of words to say. I've covered Development well. My point on trauma is only a few words, which I hope will unvail a clear thread throughout the rest of what I have written.

Not all trauma is what you go through, trauma can be what you do not go through, but should have.

Trauma can mean merely missing out. I fear so much that in the attempt to reduce trauma we are creating its shadow in our children. A nameless trauma, a trauma of absence. A world of ghosts we never met haunts us, transparent experiences, unlearned lessons. A vague sense a problem we're confronting should be solvable, but facing it is intractable, the requisite toolkit we should have learned at age 6 abscent, the ghosts of what was meant to be, but never was.

The trauma of the unlived life.

#Tw #tw: csa

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gws350mmiller · 5 years

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Unit six:

Tw: discussion of sexual assault, abuse, rape.

Rape culture has been a huge topic of discussion in recent news. The me-too movement and discussion of sexual assault and abuse in Hollywood has furthered discussion on trauma and the meaning of consent.

Sexual autonomy and agency are vital in healthy sexual activity for all folks, not just those who are able bodied. It is difficult to determine if an individual is able to know if a situation is safe and empowering or potentially harmful.

Many people define consent as a definitive verbal agreement where both parties say yes. However we often neglect discussion of coercive rapes. We can all understand that no means no. However, it is possible that yes also means no.

In situations with uneven power dynamics, pressure to comply with demands, or in instances where one feels rejecting sexual advances risks safety or privileges they may verbally consent to activities that they truly oppose. If the agreement isn’t enthusiastic, if there are body language cues reflecting hesitation, or if someone changes their mind they haven’t given full consent.

Consent is especially tricky when one or both individuals have disabilities. Cognitive impairments and psychological trauma may alter the ability to deny unwanted sexual encounters or complicate personal judgement and determination. “Competence,” is a term that comes up when we analyze different encounters. Gills piece shares the difficulties that arise in these decisions, especially when the legal system is involved.

In Kalie McArthur’s case, the question of her competency was the main determinant in legal prosecution of her peer-educator. In her experience she developed a sexual relationship with Harris, her peer-educator. She and her peer were assigned janitorial work, but instead had a sexual encounter in the stairwell.

At first in my personal understanding of this matter I had many unaddressed concerns. How does the school account for the fact that they were left unattended? Why are they assigned work outside of the classroom instead of being integrated with other students? It seems as if this places both of their safety at risk and outside of normalized school conduction as well. Gill shares that Kalie’s individual education plan ensured adult supervision at all times. I was surprised that the school was not initially held responsible for the events.

“Yost considered their activity to be sexual and that Harris was abusing McArthur, and Harris was charged with having unlawful sexual relations with a minor, although he was minor himself and younger than McArthur.” While it is an issue that Harris was a peer-educator and had a power advantage, in that regard, there were details left out about the exchange.

It is shared; that Harris, who is later diagnosed and medicated for a cognitive impairment and depression, was portrayed as a predator when he was also vulnerable. The age difference between them means that he was also a minor. Due to this, Kalie was also having sexual relations with a minor. If his diagnosis’ and disabilities were discussed as well, his ability to consent could be equally questioned. “Harris implies that he is as much a victim as McArthur in this situation, punished for his sexual curiosity and unstable mental health.”

By representing Harris as a hormone-filled boy, the public feels justified in protecting Kalie. The representation and controversy of this case share a perspective where men are the aggressors and unable to control sexual drive while women are always victimized. It is possible that both students were unwilling to consent, and in turn both experienced a similar assault. Narrating the proceedings as if Harris is the only guilty party neglects the role of structural measures to ensure students safety.

This case is not clear-cut. It is unclear who is at fault and who is the perpetrator. Regardless, Harris spent time in a juvenile detention center and had to register as a sex offender. The school was responsible for the lack of supervision and preventative methods. “Following Harris’s criminal trial, McArthur’s parents sued D-20 and McArthur’s teacher for negligence in a civil case.” The case was settled with financial payments to the family.

The case gets more tricky when Gill shares what may seem to be consent on Kalie’s behalf. “During the negotiations for this civil case, a professional for the school district claimed that the experience for McArthur was “pleasurable, not traumatic” and that it “ignited her female desires.”” This insertion into the case suggests that she was offered an opportunity to realize her sexual desires through this encounter.

Assumption that the encounter was beneficial to Kalie is informed by sexist, ableist, and heteronormative beliefs. Gill reiterated his stance, “Regardless, we need to be clear that even if McArthur enjoyed the experience, it does not mitigate the unequal power dynamics and assault that she also may have experienced.”

The impact of the event is is represented when Brian Newsome discusses the aftermath. He says that Kalie has experience emotional distress and says, “McArthur frequently asks, “Do I have to take my clothes off?” and repeats, “I’m afraid, I’m afraid, I’m afraid.”” This shows the negative impacts this event had on her functioning and emotional well-being.

The determination that she is and was unable to consent is clear in the narration of the events. She was not allowed to testify or speak publicly about her experience or perspective. Adults assumed a protective position and pursued legal intervention without her participation.

One problematic statement in the piece was one from Glen Beck “My faith teaches me that the handicapped are the most valiant among us. My gut tells me, after I volunteered for Special Olympics, that when we get to the end, when we go see God face to face, we’re going to realize that we’re the retarded ones, not those who are fighting with mental disabilities.”

This statement is not only guilty of using a slur, but also feeds into ableist gatekeeping. Beck is under the assumption that all people with disabilities are incapable of keeping themselves safe and need able-bodied individuals to volunteer their efforts to help them gain some able-bodied measure in regard to quality of life. Using the word, “fighting,” is additionally problematic and reflects the medical model of disability where the disabled body (and the disability itself,) is the issue.

He continues, “There is nothing that will put you at the gates of Hell faster than raping a child or raping a handicapped person.” In this elaboration, he uses another slur. Outside of his continued use of inappropriate and demeaning language, I identified a comparison between individuals with disabilities and children. This comparison is an important factor in widespread beliefs about sexuality for those with disabilities.

Individuals with disabilities are often infantilized. Our society views disabled individuals as childlike and unable to make their own choices. Stating that those with disabilities are unable to consent to any sexual activity is harmful. Many desire sexual relationships. It is important that they are able to find willing partners for these encounters who also agree to partake in sexual activities.

Becks contrast between able-bodied people and those with disabilities employs a dichotomous attitude about who is able to agree to sex. As someone with a daughter who has disabilities, he seems to assume that it is his role as a male (especially as her father) to keep her safe. This male-protector status is contradicting with the male-predator perspective exhibited in Kalie’s case.

It is important to remember that anyone is at risk of being taken advantage of, and anyone is capable of perpetrating the assault. Notions of gender roles in sexual activity, ownership and protection of women’s bodies, infantilization of individuals with disabilities, and unwillingness to examine structural inadequacies all pose opportunities for harm.

Limitations on individual choice can pose threats to personhood and ownership of our own bodies and decisions. Safety; both emotionally and physically, are perhaps the most important aspects of sex. When an individual is marked as being unable to say yes, it may be assumed that they also are unable to say no and place them further at risk for assault and abuse. Taking protective roles is helpful in some cases, but it is important to remember that individual levels of understanding vary and many individuals are perfectly capable of consenting and participating in sexual relationships.

Such concrete views on consent and competence set us up for wrongful interpretations of the concepts. Consent is something that must be given, evaluated, and reaffirmed throughout interactions. It is not always clear who is capable of determining their willingness to participate and who isn’t. If we decide anyone with an intellectual disability is a legal minor, an entire group of marginalized individuals are unable to participate in sexual activity altogether. We must view consent and competence in adaptive and fluid ways. The boundaries are not always clear and power dynamics must be continually re-evaluated.

#gws300

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junker-town · 6 years

Text

Cannabis is fueling one of the best runners in America

With one hand in the dirt and another reaching for a shard of jagged rock that will ferry me to safety, I suddenly feel the presence of the Lord. From where I’m awkwardly crouched on top of the Devil’s Causeway, there are sheer cliffs to either side with a 1,000-foot drop below. All things considered, it’s a pretty good time for a lapsed Catholic to have a religious experience.

Avery Collins told me this run would be epic and I had no reason to doubt him. He spends most of his days exploring the Colorado mountains as part of his 140-mile-a-week regimen, which seems absurd. Then again, my regular 40-50 miles used to seem like a lot, too.

We’re on a 10-plus mile loop that will take us up and over the north end of the Flat Tops Wilderness Area, about a 45-minute drive from Steamboat Springs. It’s a warmup for Collins, but for most people it’s the run of a lifetime.

From the trailhead near the Stillwater Reservoir, we were already at 10,200 feet of elevation. A three-mile uphill climb took us another 1,600 feet to the causeway, which is where I’m having a moment. Collins catches my vibe and says, “It’s a very spiritual thing to get high before a run.”

He dances across the causeway and directs me to pose for the obligatory photo, which breaks my spell. Fortified by guidance coming from God knows where, I get down to business, hugging the rocks and slithering slowly back to terra firma.

Ahead of us lies a 5K along the ridge line at almost 12,000 feet of elevation. Beyond that is a four-mile descent that will ravage my calves and test my technical mettle. There will also be a close encounter with a bull moose, but we’ll get to him in due time.

For now, it’s my turn to lead. The single track is narrow, and my ankles click together. It takes a half mile for my breathing to normalize. Finally, a rhythm emerges. I’m sensing the ground’s outline before my feet make contact and my stride is true. For the first time all day I feel like I’m running.

I want to be clear that we were not carried up the mountain on a golden cloud of marijuana smoke. The amount of THC in our system wasn’t enough to get us baked or blazed. Before the run I took a solitary hit from a bowl, which constituted the entirety of my consumption on my trip to Colorado. This was also not my first time running high.

I’ve been preparing for this ever since experiencing a brutal day at the Boston Marathon last April. It was the most grueling race of my life and I carried a heavy mental burden for weeks. In an effort to shake out of my funk, I went to the woods and began to explore my psyche.

What I found during a handful of legal experiments before I went to Colorado was that my runs became bigger, bolder, and more vibrant. Out in the wild and a little bit stoned, I discovered a more mindful approach to the miles. The closest thing I can compare it to is the concept of panoramic awareness as described by Sakyong Mipham from his book, “Running with the Mind of Meditation.”

“We are not just lonely runners pounding out the miles, but living creatures running on the Earth. When we acknowledge that, we feel alive. We do not have to fight our environment.”

What’s interesting is that I’ve become more adept at getting into that mindful head space even when I’m not high. I’m clearly tapping into something, although I’m not entirely sure what it is, to be honest. Thanks to the federal prohibition against marijuana, the science of running high is hazy at best.

One emerging theory is that the mystical runners’ high is tied to our body’s natural endocannabinoid system, which mediates the effects of cannabis and is found in our brains and central nervous system.

Endorphins, which interact with our brain’s opioid receptors and can release feelings of pleasure during exercise, are simply too large to travel through the blood-brain barrier to trigger that heady, euphoric feeling. Those tiny flowing endocannabinoid molecules, however, are just right.

The runners’ high is not really the same as running high — one is fleeting and ethereal, the other is more of an immersive process — but it feels like a symbiotic relationship. To run high is to run unconsciously, to embrace the run for what it is, regardless of time or distance. To put it another way, running high has opened up possibilities that once felt far beyond my capabilities. Like say, running up a mountain 12,000 feet above sea level.

It should be noted, dear reader, that running high isn’t for everyone. Hell, being high isn’t for everyone. One person’s focused creativity is another’s flighty confusion, and you really don’t want to be roaming the mountains looking for enlightenment without proper training and some kind of guidance. All of that is what brought me to Avery Collins.

Collins stands about 5’8 with piercing blue eyes and a tuft of blonde hair that he’s never quite sure what to do about. He’s clearly fit in the way most people are fit in Steamboat Springs, where he lives with his girlfriend, Sabrina Stanley, who is also an ultrarunner.

It’s not until you get up into the mountains with Collins that it becomes obvious he is an elite athlete. He runs up on his feet, like he’s poised to take flight at any moment, and he has remarkable body control. He stumbled only once on our run while I flopped and flailed a dozen times. He is most of all a quiet runner.

In Steamboat, where he has a full-time job managing the Twisted Trails running store, Collins can choose any number of mountains to run. Since he doesn’t have a car, he’ll often ride his bike out to the trailhead. In the winter he’ll hop on his splitboard and ride down to the base of Mt. Werner before the gondola starts running. He’ll then skin up to the top where he can carve fresh trails before most people have their coffee.

Photos by Jeremy Jacob

Collins is prone to the occasional stoner moment, but he’s remarkably focused for a 25-year-old. With his sponsorships and his job managing the store, Collins is able to train year-round, making him a full-time ultrarunner, as well. He runs four to five times a week, averaging between 20 and 40 miles per outing with elevation gains in the thousands. And he usually runs high.

If you’ve heard of Collins outside the clannish world of ultrarunning it’s because of his cannabis advocacy. He’s the only endurance runner sponsored by a cannabis company: The Farm in Boulder. In addition to a signing bonus, The Farm picks up a chunk of his travel expenses and supplies him with a discount at their dispensary.

His embrace of cannabis makes him somewhat controversial, but Collins notes it has long been part of the trail running scene. Running high may feel like a trend, but it’s really nothing new. What’s changed is the public’s curiosity. Regardless, Collins knew what he was doing well before his picture appeared in the Wall Street Journal a few years ago, bong in hand.

“It was something that obviously no one had done,” he says. “So it was a niche, and in ultrarunning you have to have a niche to make any kind of money. For me, it was just important to stand up for something I believe in.”

What he believes is that cannabis is a safer alternative to hard drugs and alcohol. He’s also found that it helps with pain mitigation. What it really comes down to is he likes getting high and he likes running. It seemed only natural to combine the two.

Collins is a proponent of what he calls “responsible consumption”, and he’s found an acceptable level to enhance the experience. Sometimes he smokes a little and other times he takes an edible about 30 minutes before a run, but what works for him may not work for someone else.

My experience is way more limited — I’ve never run on an edible — but we both agree that a nice little head high is enough to get things flowing in the right direction. Hence the solitary hit at the beginning of our journey. What he’s found is similar to what I’ve found, that cannabis makes him a more mindful runner. That includes managing the aches that are intrinsic to his workload.

“One day you can go out and feel every single twinge, which may not be a bad thing,” Collins says. “I’ll take the downhills a little easier, try to switch my muscle groups on the uphill a little bit more. The benefit of being high is you’re more in tune with your body. It keeps you more alert and aware.”

Cannabis can also be therapeutic, particularly in the form of rubs and creams that are higher in CBDs as opposed to the THC that gets you stoned. Collins uses topicals as well and finds them to be helpful as anti-inflammatories.

Still, cannabis is no cure-all. Like all runners, Collins is in a committed relationship with pain. He spends hours every day strapped into an evil spring-loaded contraption called the R8 that locks his body into place while the blades of an eight-sided roller goes to work on his muscles.

“It’s hard core, but it feels amazing,” he says with a glee that’s a little unnerving.

When Collins started his cannabis advocacy he wanted to bust the image of the lazy stoner, but that’s less important to him now that he’s establishing himself in the ultra world. He’s won 100-milers in Hawaii and Ouray, Colorado. as well as a 200-miler that nearly brought him to his knees. What motivates him now is finding the absolute limits of his body’s potential.

“We don’t know what it’s like to hurt,” Collins says as we begin our ascent. “Really hurt. True pain. I want to know what’s possible.”

We’re barely a mile into the run and I’m already feeling pain. My right hip is barking and my left glute wants no part of the pile of rocks blocking our path. Collins gives me a power-hiking tutorial as I adjust to the altitude.

“Power hiking is vital,” he says. “You get to a point where running makes no sense.”

Of course, Collins runs just about everything. On a ripper day, he’ll knock this loop down in 75 minutes and then take on the south end of Flat Tops for good measure. A typical outing means 20-40 miles in the mountains with thousands of feet of vertical gain.

What then, I wonder, does he think about when he’s running? He considers this for a moment.

“I come across as an asshole when I say this .... Nothing. That’s the best part. That’s the time in my life when I’m not thinking. I think at work. I think when I’m having a conversation. I don’t need to think when I’m running.”

There is a theory in endurance running that it’s not our bodies that break down in competition, but our minds sending out signals warning us to slow down before we’ve reached our limits. The flesh may be willing, but the brain is cautious.

What Collins describes as nothing is a mind that is free of distractions. Perhaps, if we can reframe our mindset to manage those distress signals we can go further and faster than we thought possible. Instead of dissociating, what if we can train our consciousness to dive deep enough to not just confront pain, but embrace it?

“I thoroughly believe that I’m gritty as fuck. I can take a punch to the face and fight back the whole way.”

When I run high it’s as if a layer of negative static has been scraped away between my body and my brain and I am no longer afraid of pain. I even find comfort in its familiarity.

All of which raises a complex question: Is cannabis a performance-enhancing drug? It depends on who you ask.

In part because it’s illegal on a federal level here and abroad, cannabis is on the World Anti-Doping Agency’s list of banned substances in competition, although not in training. (WADA recently removed CBDs from its list, although THC remains banned.) Collins is adamant he does not race high, nor does he intend to try.

“I have never taken any cannabis at mile 80, having been up for 20 hours with no sleep,” he says. “Who’s to say that won’t put me right on my butt? It is banned (in competition) and I don’t mind that. I have no problems with the rules. They don’t affect my daily life whatsoever.”

After winning the Georgia Death Race — billed as the toughest race east of the Rockies — Collins was awarded a “Golden Ticket” to the Western States 100, the most storied race on the circuit. Even with a number of victories already on his resume, this was a career-making performance.

Collins reached out to Craig Thornley, the race director at Western States, telling him, “I’m not here to compromise the integrity of your event,” and volunteered to be drug tested before and after the race.

The race organizers had announced there would be testing, but didn’t specify how many runners would be affected. They wound up testing the top 10 finishers in both the men’s and women’s races, at a cost of $15,000; a significant sum for the sport.

Collins finished sixth and passed the test, as he always does. Stanley finished third, making them arguably the fastest badass couple on the planet. She is not a regular cannabis user and doesn’t run high. “To each their own,” she says with a shrug.

Photo by Jeremy Jacob

The testing requirement was not about cannabis, per se. In recent years, there have been a handful of positive tests for blood doping techniques like EPO that have ravaged cycling. That realization has shaken ultrarunning to its core. PED use isn’t just against the rules, it’s against the spirit of the entire endeavor.

On the subject of PEDs, Collins sighs. It’s complicated and then again, it’s not. Testing costs money and there’s not a lot of money in ultra running. Nor is there a governing body. Who’s handling the tests, who’s paying for them, and who, if anyone, is looking out for the runners? Collins also draws a clear line of distinction.

“For me, it’s any steroid,” he says. “I’m not well versed in the subject which I think is a good thing. I don’t know shit about steroids. We’re in a sport without a lot of money. Why would you do it?”

Indeed, why do any of this? As we settle into that nice pace along the ridgeline, Collins brings me into his world.

In 1974, a man named Gordon Ainsley set out on foot from Squaw Valley through the Sierra Nevadas covering a distance of 100 miles. Western States was a horse race, but Ainsley’s came up lame the previous year so he decided to see if he could do it himself. The only requirement was that he needed to finish the course in less than 24 hours, like his equine competitors. Thus was born the idea of the ultramarathon.

There’s an element of Old West frontier myth associated with ultrarunning, but it’s underscored by the simple fact that a bunch of people set off to run in the woods and one of them will finish before anyone else. Collins wins a lot of his races, but it’s the stuff that happens between the start and finish that truly matters.

“My niche in this sport really falls under big and bad,” Collins says. “I don’t label myself as any kind of superhuman athlete. I thoroughly believe that I’m gritty as fuck. I can take a punch to the face and fight back the whole way.”

Collins has found that he is very comfortable being uncomfortable. A friend told him once that an endurance race was a series of snapshots, and for Collins those images began with a gentle push from his grandfather to sign up for his first road race. That was all of five years ago.

By his own admission, Collins was a little lost back then. He was living on the beach in North Carolina, going to school and chasing waves. He was, in his word, materialistic ... and for Collins there is no greater insult. He surfed and played basketball, but he had never run for anyone other than his grandfather, who liked to time him on trips around the neighborhood.

One day his grandfather suggested signing up for a race. Collins went to the computer and found a local 8K. It was his first race ever and he blew away the competition, much to the astonishment of the other runners in the field and the race director. Everyone, really, but his grandfather.

These are the people who are important to Collins. There’s the gang from Fort Wayne, Indiana who introduced him to the mountains. Real OGs, these guys. They wouldn’t let Collins run a 50 miler until he did a 50K. Don’t be a flash in the pan when you can have a career.

He runs for his little brother who showed up to the Indiana Trail 100 right when Collins was ready to throw in the towel thanks to a golf-ball-sized knot hanging off the side of his Achilles. It was the first time his brother had seen him race and Collins decided then and there that he wasn’t done. He wrapped his leg in duct tape and finished second.

“When you run an ultra, you’re stripped away of all your material comfort. This is what you got, and this is all you need.”

There’s this local woman, Eva, who comes to all his races. She made the best damn sweet potato soup, loaded with all kinds of oils and fats that got him through the 200 miler that stretched him to the breaking point. He runs for her too.

Then there’s Devon. They came to Steamboat together and shared a room, working three jobs and going out to the mountains every day. Mattresses on the floor and running shoes everywhere.

Collins guesses they’ve run 15,000 miles together over the last four years, including the time he trashed his hamstring on a 140-mile out-and-back from Johnstown, Pennsylvania to Ohiopyle State Park and had to quit after 100 miles. They were on pace to smash a 30-year record too. It happens.

When Collins qualified for Western, Devon dropped out of his own race to serve as his pacer. They met at Mile 62 and moved up eight spots to sixth.

Where does this drive come from if it doesn’t come from cannabis? It comes from them. It comes from somewhere primal deep within Collins. He dreams of going deeper into the mountains with Sabrina, leaving all the trappings of the world far behind.

“When you run an ultra, you’re stripped away of all your material comfort,” he says, sweeping his arm across the valley before we begin our descent. “This is what you got, and this is all you need.”

So, the moose.

About a mile into our downhill I get a glimpse of the real Avery Collins. On a particularly fast section, he launches off a rock and comes down in perfect rhythm before tearing down the mountain. “That’s my favorite part,” he says after he slows down so I can catch up.

For my part I am moving, bounding over rocks and navigating twists and turns. I settle into a strong pace and I’m sensing moves two or three steps ahead of real time. This is basic stuff for Collins, but the footing is gnarly and I don’t trust myself completely. My eyes are locked just a few feet in of me, tuning out everything but the next steps.

As we come flying toward a blind corner, Collins hisses, “Stop man, stop,” and I come to a screeching halt not 25 feet away from the biggest moose either of us have ever seen. Actually, it’s the only moose I have ever seen.

“More people die from moose encounters than any other animal in the mountains,” Collins tells me nonchalantly. The good thing, he says, is moose are functionally blind, so we slowly back up behind a tree and assess our options. To put in simple terms, this is a big fucking moose and he has the right of way.

“We’re going to have to wait this one out,” Collins concludes.

He gets no argument from me. I take a sip from my handheld and realize that Collins hasn’t touched a drop of water since we started our run. It also strikes me that he somehow spotted the moose through a thicket of forest while running several feet behind me. At that moment I felt incredibly fortunate to be running with Avery Collins.

Photo by Jeremy Jacob

My Garmin tells me later that we wait only a few minutes, but it feels like an eternity before brother moose finally snorts and loses interest in our presence. As he lumbers slowly back across the valley, Collins points to a clearing and we take a quick scenic detour back to the trail.

That encounter naturally led to a discussion about bears. Collins has seen a lot of bears. There was the grizzly at mile 112 of Fat Dog in British Columbia just eight miles from the finish gashing away with his claws at a fallen tree. At Western, when he was positioned in fourth and trying to chase down third, he and Devon met an unexpected visitor.

“Dude, he sat right in the middle of trail and just stared at us,” Collins says laughing. “I had to wait for the next guy back to catch up because we needed more people to scare it off. Devon and I were not getting the job done by ourselves.”

We still have a few miles left and the terrain gets tougher. There are creeks to cross on the backs of downed tree branches, my water gets light, and I am feeling the altitude.

Eventually the trail just ends and I realize that I’m no longer high, if I ever truly was in the first place. The cannabis may have brought me here, but the run is what lingers. It’s now embedded in my consciousness, just like Heartbreak Hill or any of the adventures still to come.

On a drive to Boulder the day after our run, Collins points toward the Gore Range. It’s one of the truly mysterious mountain ranges in Colorado with summits rising just shy of 14,000 feet and consisting of what one website described as, “dramatic serrated ridges … riddled with gnarled, tooth-like spires.”

He’d like to find out the fastest known time for crossing the range to see if he can beat it. I tell him the things he says don’t sound real.

“Yeah?” he laughs. “Not to me.”

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jeanniecollick-blog · 6 years

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tortuga-aak · 7 years

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Your brain tries to hijack every decision you make — but you can fight back

Lakshmi Mani/Nir and Far

Confirmation bias is seeking and interpreting information that confirms pre-existing beliefs.

It affects your decisions and how you see the world around you.

Your brain sees challenges to your beliefs as a threat.

To protect yourself, the brain sticks to beliefs you already identify with.

To combat this bias, approach situations with curiosity, seek disagreement, and evaluate your instinctive reactions.

You walk into your first yoga class. You're a little insecure about your weight and how your yoga clothes cling to your body revealing every flaw. You're nervous about making a fool of yourself.

Your eyes instantly zoom onto the fit model-esque people chatting in the corner. As you walk past them, your ears pick up the tinkle of laughter. My god, are they laughing at me?

You pick a spot in the back of the classroom where no one can see you. The teacher asks everyone to get into crouching fish pose. Do people know this pose?

You flail around on your mat and fall over in a big thump.

You look up to make sure no one saw you. Crap. The guy next to you is hiding a smirk. I KNEW IT. Everyone is laughing at me.

You avert your gaze after class, run out of there and vow to never do yoga again.

Confirmation bias strikes again.

In the yoga class, you looked for instances that confirmed your insecurities — the models who were laughing at you, the guy who smirked when you fell.

You ignored other instances that didn't prove your insecurities — basically everyone else in class who barely took notice of you.

Lakshmi Mani/Nir and Far

Confirmation bias is the human tendency to seek, interpret, and remember information that confirms your own pre-existing beliefs.

It is insidious. It affects every choice you make. Every. Single. Day.

The things you choose to buy, your health, who you choose to marry, your career, your emotions, and your finances. It all happens in the background without you noticing.

How does confirmation bias work?

Confirmation bias affects you in 3 ways:

1. How you seek information

Confirmation bias affects how you look at the world around you.

When you're alone at home feeling lousy, you immediately jump onto Facebook or Instagram. You look at pictures of people traveling, partying, getting married and think everyone I know is living a great life. You say to yourself, “I am such a lonely loser.”

Lakshmi Mani/Nir and Far

You sit at home and feel crappy — all because you chose to seek information that confirms your crummy feelings. You knew looking at those photos would make you feel worse but you sought them anyway.

2. How you interpret the information in front of you

Confirmation bias also affects how you process what is otherwise neutral information — and it tends to favor your beliefs.

When you are falling in love, all you see in your partner is a beautiful, perfect Adonis. You don't notice a single flaw. When that relationship sours, all of a sudden, all you see are flaws — their coffee breath, their penchant for droning endlessly about a topic you don't care about, the hairs they leave in the sink.

Lakshmi Mani/Nir and Far

You are dating the exact same person, but you perceive the things they do differently based on how you feel.

3. How you remember things

Even your memories are affected by confirmation bias. You interpret and possibly even change memories and facts in your head based on your beliefs.

In a classic experiment, Princeton and Dartmouth students were shown a game between the two schools. At the end, Princeton students remembered more fouls committed by Dartmouth, and Dartmouth students remembered more fouls committed by Princeton.

Both groups of students fundamentally believed their school was better. So they tended to remember and recall more instances that showed their school in a good light and the opposing school in a bad light.

Why am I like this?

You seek evidence that confirms your beliefs because being wrong sucks. Being wrong means you're not as smart as you thought. So you end up seeking information that confirms what you already know.

In a famous experiment, when participants were presented with evidence counter to their political beliefs, areas of their brain associated with physical pain became more active — it's as if being wrong physically hurts.

Lakshmi Mani/Nir and Far

It's easy to accept opposing views when it concerns things you don't care about. But you also have deep seated beliefs that form a core part of your identity (e.g. that you're a kind person, that your political views are correct). Evidence that runs counter to these beliefs often causes cognitive dissonance — a feeling of immense stress and anxiety.

Cognitive dissonance triggers a fight or flight response — you either dig in your heels and double down on your existing beliefs (fight) or get away from the opposing fact (flight).

Lakshmi Mani/Nir and Far

Your brain's primary goal is self-protection

This applies to both your physical and psychological self. When opposing facts challenge your identity, your brain perceives the psychological threat and protects you as if it was an actual physical threat.

There is just too much information to process

It takes tremendous effort to hold opposing hypotheses and try to evaluate evidence for and against each one.

So your brain optimizes for the fastest shortcut to a solution. It's too much work to evaluate contradictory information and figure out what's right. It's easier to look for two to three things to support your current viewpoint.

Lakshmi Mani/Nir and Far

So what can I do about it?

1.Approach life with curiosity not conviction

When you walk into every interaction trying to prove yourself right, you're going to succumb to confirmation bias.

Researchers studied two groups of children in school. The first group avoided challenging problems because it came with a high risk of being wrong. The other actively sought them out for the learning opportunity, even though they might be wrong. The second group consistently outperformed the first.

Focus less on being right and more on experiencing life with curiosity and wonder. When you're willing to be wrong, you open yourself up to new insights.

2. Seek and understand disagreement

Understanding various viewpoints can help you refine your perspective. According to researchers, you can actually change your deep-seated beliefs. The trick? Surround yourself with a variety of opposing viewpoints.

Lakshmi Mani/Nir and Far

Say you're buying a house, and you love one in particular. Ask a friend to play devil's advocate and propose reasons for not buying this house. That way you can make sure you're seeing more than just your viewpoint, and make a rational decision.

3. Think about thinking

To fight back against cognitive biases, you need to evaluate your instinctive reactions.

The next time you run across facts that completely confirm your worldview, stop. Think about the assumptions you're making and look for ways to prove yourself wrong.

Say you're a coffee lover — you need your morning cuppa to properly function. When you're browsing your Facebook feed, articles touting the benefits of coffee will instantly grab your attention.

It's easy to read these articles and go “Aha, that confirms all of my life choices.” The next time you catch yourself doing that, try to actively search for information that contradicts what you believe in.

Lakshmi Mani/Nir and Far

Confirmation bias is an unavoidable part of how you make decisions. It's an evolutionary trait that colors how you view the world, and it's not something you can always overcome.

But when you're making big decisions — decisions about your health, finances, love life — you want to mitigate its effects the best you can. Learning and understanding how confirmation bias works gives you the opportunity to compensate for its downsides and make more rational decisions.

So the next time you are going from crouching fish pose to flying chihuahua, don't worry, no one's looking at you.

Lakshmi Mani/Nir and Far

Nir's Note: This post is co-authored with and illustrated by Lakshmi Mani, a product designer working in San Francisco.

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