AAAnd here is my attempt to color Aki! I liked the way the flat colors came out so I included it on this page (specifically for referencing later) ~ I used a fairly interesting flat color technique I saw that involved initially putting all colors on one layer and then splitting it out and cleaning it up, which ended up being very relaxing.

His horns are made out of xaidrion, but of the more smoky colored variety. Since he is half magic he is completely unbothered by it. Horns were fairly common in ancient sions but not with modern ones - the main difference actually being that modern sions are basically a cryptid and try to blend in with human/shifter society, whereas ancients were not, they were clearly their own defined people.

Another fun fact about Aki himself...while ancients could learn any type of magic they wanted to put their minds to, their individual kingdoms have Specialties, usually a primary and a secondary. Aki's kingdom primarily specializes in Wind magic, with a secondary in Time. Aki uses his wind magic far more than time, but mostly because would prefer not to make too many impressions with it - it's powerful but also difficult to learn and very dangerous. (One of those things that require a healthy level of respect before you even consider using it.) When he does use it its mostly for scrying and other mystical-leaning uses, and preserving or repairing stuff in secret.

Bleach - Name Games

Continuing with the zanpakutou posts... One that seemed to get broadly misinterpreted is,

Katen Kyokotsu(花天狂骨)

...written as 花: “Flower,” 天: “Heaven,” 狂: “Madness,” and 骨: “Bone.”  Viz translated this as "Flower-Heaven Bone of Madness," and later changed it to “Flower Crazed Heaven Bone Spirit.”  But what I keep seeing overlooked is that Kyoukotsu(狂骨) is the name of a youkai; a white haired elderly man emerging from a well to act upon a grudge, cursing people who would drink from its well. (It’s also a homonym with the word for Kyoukotsu(胸骨) “Sternum” written “Breast”+”Bone” which is played on in Kyokotsu’s design for the anime as a skull-clad busty woman.)  “Bone-Spirit” actually does seem like it’s referring to the youkai, but then it scrambles up all the other adjectives and nouns. 

Kyoukotsu(狂骨)  is also a slang term in some regions for someone in a state of looking wild and and in noisy disarray --which basically refers to either a a mentally unstable person, or a raucous drunkard.  I think the logic in that might have to do with the idea of the Kyoukotsu cursing its well, and the idea that a belligerent or gibbering drunk being that way from having drank something evil... i.e. from a cursed well?  Given the nature of zanpakutou as reflections of their wielders’ inner-selves and Kyouraku’s disposition as a frivolous drinker, it may have been meant to imply a darker side to that.

I’ll be honest, I can’t tell if Katen is supposed to evoke “A Flower (from) Heaven” or “A Heaven (made/full of) Flowers.”  They more or less imply the same tone, but it’s the difference between a singular item or a whole landscape.  The only more specific phraseology I can find that would point in one direction over any other is katengecchi(花天月地) which refers to a scene of flowers blooming in moonlight, and kind of makes me lean more toward the landscape imagery of a field of flowers so beautiful that it is like heaven.  But I don’t know that those terms are even really related.

Together, at least to me, it seems to give off the impression of getting sloppy drunk in a field of flowers, which seems pretty in line with his general vibe.

But adding to these themes, his release call is notably longer than most, and appears to be specifically split up into one call for each of his two identical swords (and Ukitake’s the same, but noticeably Ukitake’s sword can’t be interpreted as two different names, like what they did with Katen and Kyoukotsu).  These and Ukitake’s, more than any other zanpakutou calls, and more like the hadou spells, lean into Kubo’s affinity for poetry --something he also indulges in in his tankobon poems.

花風紊れて, 花神啼き: “Flower-Wind* in disarray, Flower-spirit(s) call out/cry/wail”

*I think... think... maybe...  this is supposed to be an abbreviated form of Kachou-Fuugetsu(花鳥風月), written “Flower, Bird, Wind, Moon” which is a term used in classical Japanese art to refer to “the beauty of nature” as subject matter.  It doesn’t have to literally include Flowers, Birds, the Wind, or the Moon.  Basically, it just refers to a nature scene meant to display the beauty of nature (as opposed to being a slice of life or a strictly historical depiction, or other non-aesthetic-primary focus.)

Also the construction Kashin(花神) here written as “Flower kami*” doesn’t seem to refer to a specific deity, but worth noting is that it’s a homonym with Kashin(歌神): the kami* of Waka and of song --Waka being a traditional Japanese form of poetry, which are also sometimes translated as “muse” if that gives you a better sense of what they are.  Functionally they are closely related, because it’s the spirit of nature that inspire poetry/song about the beauty of said nature.  Moreover, as discussed previously, Shunsui has a distinct theme of both flowers and of music, so both feel kind of relevant here.

*I feel like this is kind of a Japanese mythos 101 thing to point out, but if you’re not aware, Shinto being an animist religion means they believe in an innate spirit in basically all things.  The word kami does not mean “god,” it refers broadly to that innate spirit that all things possess.  The most powerful kami are analogous to gods in other religions, but a kami’s only real definitive quality is that it is a spirit and that is exists...  the spirit of a flower has no power nor grand design nor will, nor any other quality that would make sense attributing to what we call a “god” in the West.  But that doesn’t make it any less a kami.

Also the naki(啼き) here is the same root as the nake(啼け) that Urahara and Benihime uses.  It can, in this context, read like “yelps” or “wails” or even “screams” but all in the tone of, “cries of distress.” (As opposed to quiet weeping; it’s “cry” as in the sound, not the tears.)

Also it’s kinds awkward but the verb midarete(紊れて) is the conjunctive form of the verb “to disturb” but I don’t know how to say that in English without throwing a lot of extra words into it, and I didn’t want to imply that there were more words and their implicit meaning involved.

And then...  

天風紊れて, 天魔嗤う: “Heaven-Wind in disarray,��Tenma* laughs/sneers/ridicules”

I feel like “Heavenly Wind” here is supposed to refer to something more specific than just the two words mashed together, but I can’t really find anything that clarifies this for me...  But my first assumption is that like kamikaze(神風) “Divine Wind” it’s meant to describe a favorable wind, sent to protect or relieve someone in need; hence it being “spoiled,” “thrown about,” or “dispersed” being a bad thing, in the same tone as the Flower-Wind phrase above.  It’s the same verb, but i feel like “disarray” of something like “a wind” doesn’t visualize clearly.

And the specific term Kamikaze went from a general term to a specific title to refer to the two notable historic typhoons that coincidentally sank invading Mongolian fleets in the 13th century.  For their immense power and convenient timing they were attributed to acts of the divine defending Japan.  In turn it’s why the Japanese kamikaze pilots of WWII were so named.

*Tenma is the Japanese name of the Hindu Mara, of Buddhist mythos.  He is a kind of temptor figure presiding over both lust and desire as well as hesitation and fear such that they interfere with a buddhist's ability to meditate, focus, and adhere to their virtues.  In particular he's responsible for having tempted Siddharta Gautama Buddha with beautiful women. (in some iterations said to be the deva's own daughters.)

Yes, it’s the same Mara as the SMT franchise, but the giant penis monster Mara isn’t based on any real mythology, it’s actually a pun on the Japanese Mara(摩羅), written as “chafe/rub/polish/grind (against) thin-silk,” and used as a term meaning “obstacle to Buddhist practice” in accordance with the actual Hindu Mara’s role in mythology.  I’ll be honest though, I don’t know if the construction is supposed to reference masturbation or dry humping.  Maybe both?

So, trying to work all this into something a little more readable in English, what I think the overall vibe of this is, is...

“The-Beauty-of-Nature is being thrown into disarray, and the Flower-spirits wail;  Saving-Graces aren’t going to arrive, and ‘The Devil’ laughs(mockingly).”

The theme here is that the beauty of nature suffers, a heavenly blessing is interrupted, and a demonic figure laughs at it: There’s nothing to sing about, there’s no relief, the tempter wins.  It’s actually a little weird because thematically it feels very much the opposite of what his shikai actually does.  I feel like he wanted Shunsui using his shikai to be that moment of serious-ing up, but by the time he came back around to actually using it, he wanted to keep Shunsui’s powers more in line with his personality and save the change of mood for his big bankai reveal instead.  but we’ll get to that in a bit...

For context, Kyouraku Shunsui’s own name reading as “Capital(City) Music, Flower Water” points to his lazy personality: he’s a big city type who’s all about lounging and luxury and sweet indulgences.  So, his sword release by contrast is those declaration that playtime is over, Kyoraku is done being lazy.

Broadly speaking I never really liked Masashi Kudou’s anime-original designs for most of Bleach’s filler arcs, other than just not really aesthetically fitting with Kubo’s design sensibilities(all Kudou’s designs look like bad cosplay with big swatched of empty solid space, flat colors, no color balance, and no implicit weight or texture) they don’t really gel with most of their names and themes, but Katen Kyoukotsu in particular got kind of tragically reduced to a generic waifu design.  I honestly really hate that Kubo went and ran with that design for Shunsui’s bankai.

And speaking of bankai...

Karamatsu Shinjuu(枯松心中)

is tacked onto the end of the same name as the shikai to make the new bankai name.  Kara(枯) and matsu(松) just read as “Withered/Withering PineTree.”  Fun fact: when chapter 647 first ran in Weekly JUMP, the title was Kuromatsu(黒松) which is the specific species of “Japanese Black Pine,” Pinus thunbergii, which is the specific iconic tree used in Noh theatre.

And Shinjuu(心中) is written as “heart”/”mind” and “inside,” meaning “inner thoughts/feelings” but in the context of the bankai’s theatre theme refers to a “double suicide”/“lover’s suicide.“  It’s a theme in classical Japanese theatre and literature (but notably in Japanese puppet theatre) that when lovers, or sometimes parents and children are unable to live together due to social restrictions, they will tragically but nobly opt to die together with the expectation that they will be reunited either in the afterlife or in the next life via reincarnation.

I like the idea behind his powers and the progression of forcing people to play by the rules of children’s games, to forcing people to play by the “rules” of theatre plots.  But I was surprised his bankai didn’t come with the drawback of forcing himself to abide the same limitations: they both get sick together, they both drown together, they both hang themselves, etc...  The initial scene’s power walked right into this, but then the effect disappeared with the subsequent scenes...

All in all there’s just a lot going on in these names despite how little most of it ever really got addressed or elaborated on in the series.  Like a lot of stuff that got sort of awkwardly shoehorned into the final arc it feels like it wasn’t really played out to its fullest potential, but it’s still a super cool assortment of themes and motifs to think about.

The Art Of Remembrance (Part 4)

Azula sits up, every fiber of her soul and body standing on end. The wind whistling against the side of the house unsettles some part of her. She can’t say exactly why; at first she thinks it is simply because it is a reminder of the unrelenting cold that had almost killed her. But she thinks that it is deeper than that. More primal. Complemented by the nightmare, the shrill howl and the slight shaking of the house leaves her jittery and on edge.

She doesn’t know where to go but she doesn’t want to remain on that sofa, fighting for sleep that won’t come, so she takes to wandering aimlessly about the house with only a small flame in her palms. She meanders into the living room and stands before the rack of weapons. Those will occupy her, at least for a short span of time. 

She brushes her fingers over the dull surface of the blades, runs them over the intricate tribal etchings. Her fire glints and bounces off of the metal. She traces her fingers to the end of the topmost sword. To the hilt. Wrapped around it is a dark leather that ends in long fringes. 

She follows the length of the fringe to wear it ends with several large wooden beads, teal and navy in color. 

The craftsmanship is sublime. 

“What are you doing?” 

Azula gives a start and nearly drops the sword. 

“Sorry.” Sokka whispers, holding his hands up. “Couldn’t sleep?” 

Azula shakes her head. 

“Is the bed not comfy?” He pauses. “No wait, I know! It’s too cold isn’t it?” 

“That’s not it.” Azula replies. Though it is rather chilly for her liking. 

“Then what is it?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” She replies. 

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.” 

“Nothing, nevermind. It’s foolish.” She cradles the sword back in place. 

“So it was a nightmare then?” Sokka asks. “Zuko always gets really defensive and secretive about nightmares.” 

“Zuko…” she tests the name, trying to coax any familiarity out of it. Still, the name remains as empty as her own. 

“What happened in the nightmare?” Sokka persists. 

She picks up another weapon and inspects it. This one is a spear with a stone head. 

“Alright, I’ll leave you alone.” 

“I died.” She puts the spear back in place. 

The wind gives another howl at the house. She stares down at her feet with her hands clasped behind her back. 

“I think I know how to make things better.” Sokka smiles. 

Azula stares expectantly. 

“It always comforts me.” 

Azula quirks a brow. 

“Follow me.” Sokka smiles. He tosses her a coat and a pair of mittens.

The firebender looks at the door. Reluctantly, she slips into the winter attire and lets Sokka lead her out into the snow. Instinctually, her stomach turns. In comparison to the last time she had stepped outside, it is more pleasant. It is quite peacefully so. Snow still falls but it is lighter. Kinder. A gentle little dusting that clings to her lashes and the fur on her hood. 

Her breaths come out in small puffs. She watches an artic wolf-fox cross the snow in the distance. Despite the tranquility, she wants to go back inside. Even as abundantly bundled as she is, she still shivers.

“Why are we out here?” 

.oOo.

Sokka’s heart sinks; she isn’t even giving him a chance. He should have known that the firebender would have no interest in the cold majesty of an arctic night. He marvels at twisting curtains of light, she hasn’t even noticed. In fact she seems only to stare at the ground, watching each and every step she takes or blankly at the snow gusting about in the tundra. Winds blow loose flakes into large banks, the wisps of wintery powder slither like snakes in the wind.

The sight is familiar and comforting as it is sinister and dangerous. He thinks that she can only ever know it as a sight to dread.

He considers asking her again, what she had dreamt of. 

He comes to find that he has no need. 

“I died in the cold.” She says.

Instinctually, as he would with his own sister, Sokka takes her hand. “You’re alive.” He laughs, “I can tell because you’re complaining.” 

“In my dream, I mean.” Azula replies. 

Sokka gives a resigned sigh, “is this your way of telling me that you want to go back inside?”

“It’s my way of telling you that you better have a good reason for bringing me back out here.” She folds her arms across her chest. 

“Look up.” Sokka points.

.oOo.

Azula tilts her head. A quartzy dusting of stars glimmer in a deep blue sky. The glistening snow below creates a frigid and elegant ambience. And then she sees what Sokka is referring to. They are luminous curtains of vivid teals and electric greens with an occasional burst of rosy pink. 

“I like to watch them. They never get old because they seem to look different every night.” Sokka says.

They shift and twirl in the air like pastel flames. Sometimes dipping low enough that Azula feels as though she can reach out and touch them. She holds a hand out, if only to humor herself, but only catches snow.

“They’re nice, right?” Sokka grins. 

Azula shrugs, “they’re alright, I suppose.” They’d be better under different circumstances. The more she stares out into the vast tundra, the more that the unease begins to seep in. She half expects to see them stalking over the snow, ready to fight to take her back. She takes an unconscious step towards Sokka. 

A particularly strong gust sends her into another round of vicious shivers. 

As awestriking as the celestial colors overhead are, the icy breath on her cheeks pulls her attention elsewhere. Feeling it on her skin makes her fingers tingle, even the one that she no longer has…

Especially the one that she no longer has.

The queasiness doubles. She can feel the cold seeping into her bones, turning them to ice. Abruptly, she turns and begins a brisk and somewhat clumsy walk back to the house. Sokka, well accustomed to trekking through deep snow, catches up absurdly quickly. 

“Sorry.” He mutters. “I thought that you’d like them.” 

Azula pauses to look at the lights once more. “I do.” She admits. “But I also like the nine fingers that I still have.”

She doesn’t mention how unsettled the landscape--and its horrific weather--makes her feel. 

How trapped.

How downright frightened. 

.oOo.

Sokka laughs. “That’s fair, I guess.” 

“You guess?” She whips around to face him. “How about this, I’ll amputate your finger and keep it for myself.”  She carries on with her stubborn, awkward-gaited stride, leaving him to dwell on her empty threat. 

“It didn’t change you much.” 

Azula brings her strides to a halt once more. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re still you. Even if you don’t have your memories.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Sokka considers the question; it is almost like a reset in some way. She is more like her old self; less impulsive, more logically driven. Sharp-staring and rational. And yet this is her more dangerous temperament. It is the one that had allowed her to burn and singe he and his friends. That helped her overthrow Ba Sing Se. He considers that cold and calculated, piercing stare and then that later vicious, more wild gleam in her eyes as she lashed out at his sister and at her own brother. He decides that he does wish that her amnesia would have left her softer, more timid. “Let’s talk about this inside.”

Azula doesn’t protest this suggestion but she doesn’t drop the topic now that they are back in the warmth of his home. “You think that it’s a bad thing.” She says simply. “Why? Who am I?” 

“I told you, I’ll tell you all about yourself on the boat ride home.”

“Home as in the Fire Nation  in general or home as in, to my home specifically.” 

“Your home.” He replies. “Your brother has been looking for you, believe it or not.” 

“I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t.” Azula shrugs and finds herself a seat closest to the fireplace. She ignites the wood within. 

Sokka cringes. “Yeah…” 

The way she stares at the fire gives him the impression that she has picked up on his wince. He could really use some more time under the lights. Maybe he should leave her to the comfort of the fire and return to his own happy place. 

“I shattered.” She speaks, leaving pause enough for Sokka to take in the crackle and pop of the fire. “In my nightmare my body froze and shattered.” 

Sokka isn’t sure if he is supposed to fill the gap with a reply.

“I don’t like it out there, Sokka. It’s too cold and the only memory I have of it is that it almost killed me and then took my finger to ensure that I’d never forget.” She gives another pause. “Do you know what it is like when your clearest memory...your only memory is that.” 

Sokka swallows. “That’s why I was trying to show you something pretty. It isn’t all harsh, it can be beautiful and kind.” He wonders if and hopes that the same can be said for the woman in front of him. 

She peels off her mittens and stares at her palms. “I suppose that I appreciate the attempt. Even though it was a dreadful one.”

“Was it though?” He quirks a brow.

“Alright. Fine. Those lights were rather incredible.” Azula admits. He watches her stretch herself out on the sofa and bundle herself up. “Stay with me?” She asks.

“There’s only one sofa.” 

“There’s plenty of floor.” She points out and gestures to a sleeping bag that is haphazardly laying on the ground.

“I can’t sleep on the floor.” 

The firebender frowns before snatching her pillow and curling up on the sleeping bag. 

“You can sleep on the floor?”

“No.” Azula replies. “But I...I won’t be able to sleep anyways, so you might as well keep me company.” 

Sokka sighs. “You can keep the sofa.” Joking or not, he decides that he won’t give her a hard time about not wanting to sleep alone. “I said that you can…” but she is already asleep. He almost forgot that she is still running a fever. He lifts her back onto the sofa and curls up on the sleeping back, wondering how he always manages to get the short end of the stick. 

He thinks that he is too sympathetic for his own good. 

“Hey.” She mumbles. Apparently she isn’t a heavy sleeper. He almost feels bad for having woken her. Not that she won’t fall right back asleep. 

“Yeah?”

“You’re taking me home tomorrow, right?” 

“I’m taking you home as soon as you stop coughing and sniffling.” 

She nods and rolls over, turning her back on him. As soon as he is certain that she is asleep, he wanders back outside--with a promise that he’ll be back inside before she can realize he’d left at all. He only wanders a little ways from the house before turning his face to the sky. Teal and green weave in and out of each other. He is going to miss them. But it will be nice to see Zuko and Aang again. And if he is lucky, Toph too. 

He just hopes that they will handle Azula’s arrival well. 

He looks out into the tundra, the dark and unforgiving openness. She’d made her way out of such a dismal place, he hopes that he can keep her in the light. 

The auroras roll and shift.

Group Reread: Notes on Chapters 1 - 5

Chapter 1

“The letter wasn’t addressed to John. The return address, however, was his.”

Right off the bat, I’ve got questions. How did Ji know the return address of Kyle and John’s house unless Kyle had informed the Payshmura at some point of his moving in there? Why does this matter? Well, it adds more fuel to my theory that Kahlil was going back and forth between Basawar and Nayeshi.

The underwear catalog. Just saying, they generally don’t ship you a catalog unless you’ve bought something from them. And we know Kyle doesn’t wear underwear. So… John wears “absurdly small briefs” is now canon. Don’t look at me, I go where the clues lead. :D

John says he hasn’t seen Kyle for two weeks: since he ran into him at the bathhouse. But was Kyle in Basawar for two weeks? Or - hear me out - was he just sulking in Gray Space and avoiding an awkward conversation with his roommate about what he was doing at the bath house?

John describes the padlock for Kyle’s room as heavy, iron, and like a prop from a pirate movie. It also supposedly looks like it matches the key from the envelope. That has to have come from Basawar. No one is going to convince me that Kahlil brought a giant padlock with him on first and only trip through the Great Gate. He has to be going back and forth!

Kyle’s soap is still in its wrapper. Again, why? Because he’s using his lifetime supply of istana soap?

Why does Kyle keep his food in a locked cupboard? I think in a later chapter we find out that it’s not actually food in there, but guns and ammunition?

“There was a certain ease to simply not knowing what Kyle was thinking while watching him slink up the stairs, dressed in a heavy black leather coat, carrying lethal-looking knives and a bundle of cloth as long as  a human arm. ”

I’m assuming this is the sword? But where is he taking it?

Chapter 2

“The misty forms of overhanging branches split and scattered as he plunged through them. Trees blew aside in wisps.”

This description of Kahlil’s movement through Gray Space is really cool. I didn’t notice it as much on my last read through, but it helps me visualize how the ushiri’im can move at variable speeds through the Gray Space.

Kahlil kills Ji in this timeline by stabbing her in the neck with his curse blade. I was very tempted to read ahead and check exactly how Fikiri kills her in the alternate timeline. (But, I’ll be good and wait until we get there!) It would be interesting if her two deaths, both by ushiri popping out of Gray Space, happened the same way.

I did not even realize that Ji cursed Kahlil’s wound before she died. That makes sense why it’s so debilitating. I remember thinking that it must have been one hell of a nasty dog bite, but this makes so much more sense.

“The Prayerscars over his eyes seared white-hot lines into his darkness.”

This quote intrigued me. It seems like the prayerscars might actually function to protect the kahlil’s eyes while they travel through the Gate. When Kahlil goes back through the broken gate in a later chapter his eyes get kind of messed up and he no longer has the prayerscars. I’m not sure what to make of this, other than to mention that it piques my interest.

“Kahlil caught the sound of footsteps pacing the kitchen. He easily pictured John, striding through the room, his strong frame almost too tall for the ceiling fan, the breeze from its overhead blades tousling his disorderly blonde hair. Then Kyle remembered him wearing only a white towel, glancing back over his tan, muscular shoulder and catching Kyle’s guilty gaze.”

Well, lookee here! Kahlil referring to himself as Kyle in his own POV chapter. What to make of this? An error? Or perhaps a meaningful clue? Who knows!

Chapter 3

It’s explicitly stated here that John moved into his house a year ago. This tightens the timeline so much! That means that Kyle has to have been there no more than 9 months and possibly less. I think this disappoints me so much because I just want Kyle to get more time to relax and be happy and be with John.

“He supposed that he was almost as bad as Kyle when it came to maintaining his privacy. Maybe that’s why they made such good roommates.”

Aww, John thinks they make good roommates! Considering he spends most of these first chapters dwelling on how weird he finds Kyle, this is interesting.

“It gave him a slightly sordid feeling to stare into his bedroom and contemplate money. He sensed that this wasn’t a resource that decent people ever resorted to considering.”

Should I be taking this that John is considering prostitution as a way to pay his rent? What else could he mean? Why wouldn’t “decent people” resort to selling their furniture?

John’s contemplation of money and how he can scrape together his rent is soo important. We know that John is extremely responsible, thoughtful, and conscientious. But here he finds himself in a tough situation that is completely not his fault and without any support structure to turn to. This is a real-life problem for a lot of young people, and particularly young LGBT+ people. John came out to his parents and they cut him off completely. There are so many real people out there who suffer when they come out to their families or guardians. I love that John is shown here, not immune to any of that. He is a smart, resourceful, thoughtful, responsible, good person and he still struggles with the difficulties of life as a young person who has lost all familial support. This is very real.

And on a lighter note, John wears a bathrobe?

Chapter 4

Ok, if you’ve talked with my about The Rifter all all you probably know that I love this chapter. It might legit be my favorite in the series. It’s right up at the top either way. Kahlil is so perfect here. His observations about Nayeshi put his own life in Basawar into stark relief. His fascination with John is absolutely adorable. I’m not going to spend this entire chapter gushing about Kyle, so let’s just sum it up like this:

Kyle is perfect. He’s an angel and he can do no wrong.

When Laurie calls John “Toffee” Kyle acts like he doesn’t know what that means. But wouldn’t he know? Ravishan heard her call him that in his original vision of the Rifter. Like, it was basically the first thing he ever knew about John?

Is it weird that after months of living together, Kyle has never met John’s friends?

“The conversation reminded Kahlil of talking to the bones. Everything alluded to something else. One word might mean another thing completely. “Sword” could be “a key.” “A key” could be “death.”

I love the allusions to double-entendres and duality in Kyle’s chapters. This quote is particularly cool because Kyle’s sword is a key and the key that is sent to him is the key that opens the Rifter’s death.

Kyle says that the bones spoke in riddles because “their lives depended on deception”. This seems to imply that the oracles are intentionally obscuring info or holding something back.

On John’s public level of physical intimacy: Kahlil notes that in private, John could be very different. I wonder if he means in private with him or with other men that he’s observed John with?

“The ritual interrogation of ordering a breakfast in this world” 

I feel ya Kahlil; I still get stressed out by this. So many follow-up questions!

“In his own world, Kahlil saw such ugly things. He had done such hateful things.”

The use of different tenses here is interesting: “saw” vs “had done”, rather than “had seen” and “had done”. I don’t feel like I know enough about grammar to comment beyond just pointing this out.  :D Also, what hateful things is he referring to, I wonder?

When Laurie is doing her “reading” for Kahlil, we get this quote:

“Suddenly, he felt something brush against him, very softly, almost like a breath of air. An old, musty scent washed over him. Kahlil recognized the smell, even as weak as this was. ”

Wonder what that familiar scent is? It doesn’t sound like the description of the smell of Gray Space.

Kahlil doesn’t remember ever eating in front of John. That seems weird, after they’ve lived together for months!

“He had barely been conscious. His entire body had ached with bruises and cuts. He remembered feeling ravenous and nauseous at the same time.”

This is Kahlil’s memory of the night John gave him the apple. This quote slays me. Where the hell was Kahlil? What happened to him?

“He had staggered through the darkness down the staircase, and John had off-handedly said, “Welcome home” and offered him an apple.”

This is so interesting! John says welcome home after Kahlil comes *down* the staircase, almost like he knows he was away, even though he just came from his room.

“One time John went to Bill’s house, and Bill’s grandma made John stand in the bathtub with a rubber hose tied around his waist,”

Why did I get a weird, kinky vibe from this?

Bill’s description of the bonfire… he was definitely high, right?

Chapter 5

My biggest impression of this chapter is the character dynamic between John, Laurie, and Bill. He is so different from them. It makes me wonder if they had all stayed in Nayeshi what their relationships would have evolved into.

Why do I find John’s driving a manual so hot? Something about shifting gears that really does it for me…

I love the way John is never baited by Laurie and Bill. He’s so calm, and so grounded in who he is. I want a friend like John.

John is so connected with the natural world. I wonder if his sense of isolation and his introversion are actually caused by his connection to the earth? Like, he is so deeply moved by his connection to nature to the point, so much so that he cannot communicate it to anyone else  who doesn’t feel it, and it’s caused him to even stop trying. Interesting that Kyle is also very moved by the natural world of Nayeshi. I think if they’d had more time together they would have bonded over this.

I’m super curious about John’s aversion to the Great Gate stones and to Gray Space. I suspect that both might have to do with how they damage the world of Basawar, which is essentially damaging John himself.

Once they’re in Basawar, John catigates himself and feels super guilty and responsible for turning the key and getting them transported there. But this scene makes it super clear that Laurie and Bill were encouraging him to do it. Not that it’s their fault, but I don’t think John should be so hard on himself.

Aaaaand, that’s it for this week! Ask/DM/reblog/reply with any thoughts on my notes! I’d love to hear what you think. And join in next week (March 19 - 25) for Chapters 6 -10!

Various Scenes from Nier: Automata/Persona (and Nier too) crossover idea.

This isn’t an entirely cohesive story sadly, more a series of scenes I came up with a couple months ago. Read below for fanfic intermixed with general story ideas. This set is mostly dealing with Mitsuru Kirijo (with some Aigis too)

Being a Nier crossover there’s some death and people doing bad things for what they think are good reasons. So basically little bits of drama and not scattered fluff below.

1. Rough Imprinting Scene

Note: This is the earliest (within the chronology of the plot anyway) scene so I put it first. For a couple reasons I thought it would be interesting to write about Mitsuru, even far into the future of the Nier timeline. There were a couple ways to do that, but I went with one that would allow for certain interesting character interactions/revelations far later. Namely that Mitsuru used the native magitech of her own company to get around the WCS by imprinting her consciousness/soul into an android body.

--->

The moment she felt the draw upon her soul every instinct cried out for her to call Artemisia back. Even as she now was, older, flesh tainted by that abomination's filth, she knew the touch of true death like a lover's caress. Her evoker may as well have been a real firearm for what she was doing. And she knew it. The fear became nearly paralyzing.

But she held on, holding her focus on the glowing, brilliantly incandescent crystalline structure before her. Till a spike of pain shot through her nerves and her vision swam with spots of red and black. She fell forward.

And plunged into that light.

It burned away sight.

It burned away touch.

It burned away mass and motion and everything.

She was thoughts captured in blue amber, the concept of herself in a dimming cage of which she could not conceive of an exit. Her memories, her mind, her soul... all of it was there. But there was nothing within her new home.

She relearned fear first. Trapped in the abyss. And with that came the first response. A Papillon Heart was after all transcendental computation system. To be within it she would become it. Her memories carved lines and new structures, painting recollected sensations. But still there was no outside sensation. Only a numbing limbo.

They had feared this possibility. That she would not, could not adapt to it. That Aigis would one day have to simply destroy her self-made prison to set her soul free.

The thought that she would be forced to do that brought her focus away from the tracing of her mind into the circuits. She had to find away out. She had to reach out and feel the wires that had replaced nerves, the cables that wound around metal bones, the more mundane computer systems that would let her see and hear. She threw herself into the change. Feeling the connections that led out eventually and following them.

Into alien systems. Things her human mind could only have understood from the outside.

But she was within the Papillon Heart now, and the plasticity of it let her change and move parts about. Shift and redraw the connections. Till she understood what it was like to be what she had become. To feel the sensitive wires that led from her memory circuits into the core of her being, that would let new experiences, and new sights become part of her.

Her sense of time was still gone. But eventually she located the internal chronometer.

2032, August 24.

It had been three months. It had felt like mere minutes. How long had it taken for her to move even to this first step outside of the core? How long had Aigis been standing vigil over her silent body. By now the salt that had been her original flesh would long have been taken away for storage and eventually disposal. Hopefully after the contaminants had been removed for later expulsion from their world.

The nature of how she would move escaped her, something that had been so simple as a child seemed to have been forgotten in her change. So instead she didn't bother for the moment. Simply focusing all her intent on finding the path that would let her open her eyes.

Two days later she managed that much. She found the world looked so different. The colors slightly off, the details sharper. Of course it was far too bright at first. It took her an hour before she realized that she should adjust the parameters of her vision to her liking.

And even though she didn't show it on her face she felt radiant when she saw Aigis smiling down at her.

--->

Post Note: In truth I now feel the time taken for Mitsuru to re-awake should be on the order of centuries to better fit with the story. Later snippets go in that direction.

Part of this is to work with the change in Aigis own character over those intervening years in solitude.

2. Visiting the Replicant Village

Note: This continues from (the updated ideas) of the previous snippet. Along with Aigis own hypothetical character arc. Namely that she would be the Devil arcana of the social links and her regret and eventual redemption would be of major importance moving forward.

(The long years of solitude with her friends either dead or hibernating as the world ended didn’t treat her well.)

--->

3325, January 11 It took a day to reach the city. Not that she could tell without checking her internal clock. The sun never set and night never came. The strange unreality of this future felt stranger and more unfamiliar to her than anything else that had happened. Even her own new body, a mere simulacrum of the flesh of her birth, was not as strange as the world around her. She had escaped the fate of the human race by escaping humanity itself. Yet despite that Mitsuru felt like she'd changed less than anything else. Or anyone else. "We're arriving soon. Don't mention anything about Project Gestalt or our own nature to the Replicants. They're already getting hard to control effectively." Aigis's words were an understatement. The town before them had armed guards patrolling the entrance, simple swords and spears, but more than enough to cause problems. They'd already heard reports of Gestalts that had headed directly to their Replicant doubles, attempted re-unification, and been cut down by the panicked clones when it failed. Now guards were standing watch to prevent the invasion of more 'shades.' And the problems were getting worse. There were millions of Gestalts awakening, more and more everyday. The emotional distress of their persistent separation from their own flesh was reacting with the maso in their bodies. Gestalts had started to become... unstable. They needed to move forward more quickly. Locate the first grimoires and make sure they had a supply of maso from the Original. Before they ran out of time. Or the Replicants made their job even harder. There's not enough of us to enforce order. Not enough androids. Mitsuru wondered if not recoiling from that thought meant her soul imprinting project had been even more flawed than originally anticipated. A millennia of torpor was quite the oversight after all. But unlike the Gestalts there was nothing temporary about her new body. She felt no dysphoric reaction, no sense of wrongness. She didn't wake in a cold sweat, or what should have been cold sweat, terrified of her own body. There were no persistent phantom limb sensations, or sensory errors. Despite the fact that she would likely exist as she now was till time or tragedy ended her, she had not a sign of the struggles that plagued her fellow humans. I wonder if they'll still consider me one when they're back in their bodies again. Her transformation had been one way, and there would be no pretending to be human like Aigis had so long ago. All the awakening Gestalts that had the good fortune to find the androids first knew who and what they were. Even after they world was made whole, her life would be very different. "Hey Miss! Are you related to Devola and Popola? Like a cousin or something? Cause you both got really pretty hair." A young boy had ran up and asked Mitsuru, egged on by a group of children behind him. She froze. Shocked by how human the supposedly soulless vessels seemed in that moment. Her stuttered response coming after a long, awkward pause. "N-no. I mean sort of. You could say we're related in some sense... technically." All androids bare some relation to the Kirijo Groups original work. And I did both hand over that data to the Hamelin Organization and spearhead further developments as part of the imprinting experiment. Even back then she'd realized that her new body would have to be closer to human than what Aigis had had if she wanted to adapt to it. Perhaps if she'd had the various minor and major improvements that now existed back then it wouldn't have taken so long. That Aigis had shared a bottle of wine with her when she'd come out of her intensive inspection and long overdue maintenance had been shocking enough. Getting drunk off it and spending the evening reminiscing about the good old days, back when all her friends had been alive, exuberant after stopping Nyx. Before they'd remembered what the price had been for that victory. "Come on now," Aigis said, grabbing hold of Mitsuru and dragging her a way from the child. "We can't waste time talking to them." Mitsuru noticed the tone Aigis used to refer to the now conscious Replicants, and leaned in closer to harshly whisper, "He's only a child Aigis." "No, he's just a body waiting for that child. The Replicants are produced as clones of who will inhabit them. Right down to their ages." She gestured to the other young among the crowd. "Children held out against the disease quite well after all. There are a lot of them waiting out there. Desperate and longing to live again. We can't allow them to die like that." She didn't argue the point. But looking back, seeing the group resuming some newly invented game she dreaded the conflict before her. There were Gestalts that needed those bodies. And all around her were Replicants that would likely stand before them to their dying breaths. The difficulties in forcing unification even in laboratory conditions now that the Replicants had consciousnesses proved that they were going to have to move forward to a more severe solution. "Director, I wasn't expecting you," Devola said. Picking up her lute she stood quickly and bowed as they approached. Though her eyes flicked back and forth between Aigis and Mitsuru. An unspoken question hanging in the air. "This is Mitsuru Kirijo. She's working with us." Aigis didn't ask for Devola to follow them, she simply started walking towards another building in the village. Where the other twin would be present. Mitsuru stepped back and opened her mouth. Closing it again as she realized she didn't know what to say. She'd barely spoken to anyone other than the Gestalts or Aigis herself. This android... she'd been activated after Mitsuru's long slumber had begun. Devola took the initiative instead. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mitsuru. Though I'm surprised by your name. I wouldn't have thought... well no matter." Popola rose to greet them as well. Hurrying forward to close the door and lock it after they entered the library. Motioning to a pair of chairs as she seated herself and her sister came to stand behind her. "So, what can we do for you Director Aigis?" "I want to know what you're doing to counteract the Replicant problem. I saw armed guards when we entered. That should not be happening." "You can't very well expect them not to defend themselves," Devola said. Immediately wilting under the glare she received. "I-I mean it's just human nature after all! They're scared of the 'shades' as they call them coming to take their bodies." "I don't care if they're scared. Those aren't their bodies in the first place." "Their fear... their emotional distress," said Popola, holding her sister's hand to calm her, "it makes attempted re-unification even harder. More likely for... problems to develop." "What about the alternative then? Have you or the Original located the first Grimoire Noire yet?" "No. The number of copies makes it difficult. But the Original has some connection from the pact he created. They will be brought together when the time is right." Aigis shot up, her hands slamming down on the desk, the wood cracking under the pressure. Her voice low despite the outburst. "When the time is right? When precisely do you expect that to be? When all the humans have been driven mad? When they're all dead? Waiting till the last minute should not be considered an acceptable solution to this problem." "I'm sure they're doing the best they can Aigis," Mitsuru said. Hesitating for a moment before turning to Devola and Popola. "What if we tried to manage their fear? Explain to them what's going on? Maybe we... could achieve some sort of synthesis?" They never got the chance to respond. Aigis turned to look at Mitsuru, the twins relaxing now that her fury was focused elsewhere. "Synthesis? Do you have any idea what you're proposing Mitsuru? What you're asking them to do? Do you know what the Replicant of Yukari was last time? A mild serving girl that spent all her time letting people push her around. The time before that she cut her hair and spent all her time butchering fish. And before that she almost got ran out of town for sleeping around! These... deviant consciousnesses are highly divergent from those of the original human's in many cases. I cannot and will not ask them to compromise their identities and sense of self just because we weren't able to foresee this possibility." "But what if-" "What if it was you? What if you hadn't become an android?" Aigis said, not noticing in her anger how Devola and Popola reacted. "What if it was you waiting for your body to be returned to you? What if the impostor wearing your flesh was as simple as her hating the taste of your favorite food or as awful as her being a vile woman that spread hateful rumors about her neighbors? What if she lacked your will, your drive, and you became less of who you are now? Would you dilute your own soul with... this corruption?!" Neither of them spoke again. Aigis realizing how she had erupted but not willing to apologize, not over this. And Mitsuru struck by how little she knew the woman that Aigis had become after all these years. "It might not work anyway," Devola said at last. "Synthesis is only a theoretical possibility. The soul in question would have to be amazingly empathetic to their Replicant consciousness and we would then have to use them as a template for such a process, and even than with the time table given we would have to acquire both Grimoires and modify them for the new result." "That and the Original would never agree. And... forcing the issue with him might not be an option," Popola finished for her twin. "Such an alteration of the Project Gestalt plan is beyond our authorized authority." Aigis let out a bitter laugh. "Even after all these years you two still haven't developed proper egos yet? Or do you simply refuse to acknowledge them? Regardless, we aren't changing the plan to follow a fool's hope this late. We can't afford such a risk." What are we risking by not doing it Aigis, Mitsuru thought. Thinking about those children in the street. And the children that were also waiting for those bodies too. Did one of them have to die for the other? But can I really ask them... ask Yukari and the others to settle for that? Sharing their bodies, sharing their very souls? She hadn't had to. She'd simply been reborn into a body electric, a form only superficially human. And while she was different now she remained herself. And it had been a risk she had knowingly taken. The millions of Gestalts had not done so. They expected to return to their own bodies and theirs alone. Many of them wouldn't settle for less either. 

--->

Post Note: The other major point is that the conflict between Aigis and Mitsuru over how to deal with the Replicants would be the seed that lead to a breakdown in their relationship and millennia without speaking.

One idea suggested was that Yukari survived as a Gestalt and played peacemaker between them. Up till she relapsed and ended up being killed before she could go on a rampage. With Aigis and Mitsuru blaming themselves for her death.

3. Unexpected Reunion (Nier: Automata timespan)

Note: And this is set during Nier: Automata finally, but within the context that android persona users have started to appear. Probably midway through whatever plot might be?

--->

Her troops lined up along the hanger. A ostentatious presentation perhaps, but one that she took some measure of pride in. Though they did not know that these 'inspectors' were the so-called Council of Humanity it still served to show professionalism if one appeared in person. It wasn't everyone of course, even with the downturn in deployments that recent events had triggered the command center itself still needed to be staffed. But nearly three dozen YoRHa troops stood along the sides as the shuttle pulled in. Landing in the spot prepared for it now that all the HO-229 flight units had been moved out of the way.

She stood before the opening door. Ready to greet the inspector when the disembarked, her mind going over what particulars she could emphasize to show their progress and efficiency.

And all of that falling away when she saw who stepped down.

***

White had put this off as long as possible. She'd tried to remain in the presence of the YoRHa staff, letting the Operators talk at great and unnecessary length about previous deployments, and had changed her request to have the most easily excitable Scanner unit explain new modifications they had begun to implement. All of it had failed in the end, and she had been asked to meet privately.

Repeatedly.

Eventually she had relented. Stepping into her private quarters, actually taking some pride in the mess. It was so unlike her inspector's tendencies that she was certain they found it irritating. She kicked a spare boot to the side and turned to face them. "So Kirijo, what is it you wanted to speak about?"

She frowned, looking closely at White and probably seeing her as she had been. How they had been before she'd learned the truth. Back when White had allowed herself to unknowingly be the recipient of their misplaced maternal instincts.

"White I..." she started to say. Noticing how White stiffened at the name she continued, more formally. Speaking now with the distance that stood between them. "Commander, there has been some changes with the Council recently. Nanjo is dead."

"I see then," White spoke slowly. The death of a councilor was no small matter after all. "We are prepared to take the aggressors down if necessary. Machine or android rebels."

She shook her head, her long red hair partially covering her left eye before she brushed it back. "That won't be necessary. It wasn't machine lifeforms or rebels. Nanjo had been experimenting with the reappearing shadows, attempting to merge them with androids. His... work got away from him and he was killed during an investigation by the android persona users."

2B and 9S? But...

"Why wasn't I informed of this? If YoRHa androids got involved with the council they-"

"Might encounter classified information? They did," Mitsuru said, her expression grim. "More than was expected even. The Nanjo networks contained info on the shadow experiments that they had been performing... and other, older data files. Material that had been classified above general council access even. I wasn't even aware of it."

"But you're-" White started, cutting herself off. The old argument threatened to break out again. The furious disagreement of five hundred years ago that had seen her leave the Kirijo Group to strike out on her own. Rising by her own merits to the post she now held. Instead she swallowed her anger, and asked, "What could be classified above even the council?"

"This... the secret behind YoRHa. Something far too sensitive to be transmitted through any communications channel." She handed over a secured data pad. Saying at last, "I... I'm sorry I didn't find out earlier."

White scanned it... stopping when she realized just what she was reading. She looked up again at Mitsuru, and quickly tore her gaze away. She couldn't stand to see what was there.

Pity.

Instead she read the report. Once and then again. Her hand trembling at the third time as the enormity of it all began to truly sink in. That her- their sacrifices, that all the terrible decisions she had made would never and could never have created the future she desired. A world free from the machines. What form that world might have taken White had studiously avoided thinking about. Whether it be quiet mourning and remembrance for humanity lost... or the civilization rebuilt from the rubble. Cities instead of disparate settlements, a society beyond the scattered war industries that maintained their armies. Honoring their creators by recreating what had been as best they could.

What Mitsuru had claimed should be their goal. What she had said humans would have wanted. What she would have wanted even if she had still been human.

But none of that mattered. None of that had ever mattered. Her war, her battles, all of it.

Meaningless.

She dropped the data pad. Collapsing onto her bed, staring down. Looking at her hands. Thinking of how dark they should be for all the useless blood she had spilled to fight a war she couldn't even win.

When Mitsuru sat beside her and pulled her into an embrace she didn't have the pride left to fight off. If indulging in whatever leftover instincts had transferred into Mitsuru's body when she abandoned her humanity would sooth the pain she felt now, White would do so gladly.

"This happened to me once."

White looked up, eyes wet from silent sobs. Mitsuru took note of her attention and continued speaking.

"A long time ago. Back when I was human. My friends and I... we, all of us, we fought to stop the end of the world. Or so we thought. I'd known that my family had had a part in bringing it about, but I'd had no idea that the man that was advising us had been quietly plotting our deaths the entire time." Mitsuru was looking through the window now. Down to the world of her... 'births.' The first of blood and flesh like all her race. And the second a painful, if necessary, repudiation of the first. "In the end my father died to save us, to save me."

"That must have hurt," White said, quietly. "To be left all alone like that."

"No," she shook her head, saying, "I wasn't alone. It was painful. More... more than I can describe. But I had my friends. I knew then that the world was counting on me. White... you're not alone, you don't have to suffer this burden in silence."

--->

Post Note:

So... I kept getting hit by how I saw some similarities between White and Mitsuru when I was thinking over Persona/Nier crossover material. Now there are multiple ways to pull off some sort of meeting/conversation. Time travel/dimension travel/artificial life or conjured memory. I decided to play with the idea of a method turning a persona using human into an android that I brought up in a previous snippet as the means to set this scenario up.

Within the context of this crossover White was being groomed to take a leadership role in various parts of android society that the Kirijo group managed. Mostly android manufacture, repair, and such. But because her personality lead to her being mentored more closely by Mitsuru she eventually became privy to the once-human's personal beliefs and goals. And even the revelation of her origin. Which White took to be great insult as Mitsuru truly doesn't think of herself as 'human' or having anything special that would make her better than other androids by this point.

Which is long explanation for why I wanted to write Mitsuru as the mentor/effective parental figure to White.

Final Note: (I’m probably never going to expand on this into a full story sadly. It feels to complicated and demanding, especially balancing Persona’s own magic/mythology with Nier/Drakengard’s. Still I enjoyed writing these brief explorations of the concept. The only scene I still wish I’d wrote with this was the eventual reconciliation of Aigis and Mitsuru as the rekindle their friendship after thousands of years of letting their guilt about not being able to stop the apocalypse get between them.)

Monster Hunter: World -- Big Things to Kill

Monster Hunter is a series of game series that I never get to play on the PS2 era. Somehow, everybody could get a copy of it but me. The only copy I had was when my brother got ahold of one, but it was the Japanese version, and neither one of us understood Japanese at the time. So you can say it was unhelpful, like when you’re lost in Tokyo and your guide is actually another lost guy from Iran.

Not long after I started college, I was teased a second time when my pals whipped out their PSPs and played Monster Hunter by LAN. I remember them shouting "GET THE PAINTBALL" and "MONSTER'S ON AREA 15" and I thought "holy shit that looks fun" until I realize people were giving us curious looks with a slight hint of disgust and now everybody knows we're dweebs. Now that my story's out of the way, consider this review an honest virgin viewpoint of the series. Because I'm new to the series, not because I haven't got laid yet. Alright fine it's both, happy?

The story of MHW is about humans pioneering the colonization of a "New World" with monsters in it, as opposed to the "Old World" which is old and with monsters in it. Okay, that wasn't the best description, but what the hell, right? The game didn't quite explain why we have to do this, but perhaps it's because the leather industry needed a shot in the arm or humans are just realistically evil evil apes with compulsive need to kill something lest civilization goes tits up. Actually not really, they do explain it after a while, and since this isn't a story that'll win any awards, I'm gonna spoil it right now: a big monster classified as an Elder Dragon went to the New World and we're sent out to figure out why. That's it.

Now off we go to kill everything with fangs and claws

If you think I was joking with that headline sentence, I was serious. In this world, every problem starts and ends with monsters. Luckily, that also means everything can be solved with good old fashioned animal slaughter, which brings us to the main point of the gameplay: monster hunting. There's only one point and ONLY one point of a MonHun game for me, which is BIG THINGS TO KILL. I mean ye got a series full of huge breathtaking monsters, what else are you gonna do about it? Well, I know exactly what i want to do: I want to track it, discover it, stand in awe at it's majesty, and kill every single one of them because I need materials for weapons, armor, and maybe some leftovers for furnitures and art projects. Nothing like culling lesser beings for fashion purposes, eh? And they say this game ISN'T realistic. And I kinda liked this system. The thought of beating a monster using it's own species' repurposed body parts while screaming "MY WEAPON IS YOUR MOTHER" amuses me somehow. Don't think about it too much though, the guilt will set in faster than you think.

In the eyes of the monsters, we are ALL Leatherface

The monsters are the lifeblood of the game. I mean it's in the fucking title. If they didn't focus on the monsters, somebody better get fired. Each monster has different elements and resistances, but they generally have the same weakness: getting the ever living shit beaten out of them. The only difference if you follow the strategies and hit them where it hurts is that the damage will be more effective, some monster powers will be suppressed, some parts will break,  they will stagger more easily and eventually fall over, leaving them whimpering in pain on the floor while you beat them senseless, you MONSTER (which is ironic because you are the hunter which hunts monsters but your behavior is the monstrous one and now I've lost the will to explain the joke any further)

My only complaint about the monsters is how when you're halfway into the game and have already had a sizeable roster of monsters under your belt and made into your belt, it just makes you fight all of them again from the start. “Oh don’t be THAT sour, surely you’ll notice that they're stronger this time and you fight them in the neighbor's house sometimes?”. Well alright fine, but how about you think about the whole scenario for a moment? This kind of behavior, coming from a game which already had FIVE generations of monsters readily available. I think it is an absolute dick move. It's like winning a meet and greet with The Rock but all you get is 7 bootleg DVDs of The Scorpion King. And not to mention we still actually get to face off new monsters after we're done with the 2nd lap, one of them being the final boss. That seems like gameplay padding to me. But of course, as of writing this I've already gotten news of a new biome as well as a few returning monsters from the older series in the form of DLCs, and CAPCOM's plan just clicked in place. Why add the complete roster when you can patch em after as DLCs and make money, amirite triple A game devs?

You know what? I’m getting angry, so I’m gonna skip that shit and talk about the gameplay instead

Monster Hunter claims to be an RPG game and that's why it deserves a few hours of standing on the corner for lying. There is no role except the role of beating monsters till they're meat floss. The only choice you have is the weapon set. You can be the hard hitters with the greatsword, the switch axe or the hammer, the all-in defense guy with the lance and the charge blade, the support with the sword and shield and the light bowgun, or you can cheese the game with the longsword, the heavy bowgun, and the bow. You can also craft armors which has unique armor skills that will buff you with special abilities. There are also set bonuses which grants extra perks if you equip an armor set, but since I found out that it's better to mix-match your armor to focus on certain abilities, they're rather irrelevant most of the time. And while talking about mix-matching armors, I find the Layered Armor system to be a Godsend since it averts you from the blight of looking like a fucking clown on laundry day. Now, with the weapon systems and armor skills in action, it is only natural that you make a build that suit your gameplay so you can maximize your abilities and fulfill the needs of you and your group where everyone fills a specialized role. Oh wait, so it IS a role playing game after all...

Oh well, if anyone needs me I'll be in the corner wearing a hat that says 'dumb motherfucker' on it

The weapons in this game are a nightmare to me. Everything is slow and cumbersome. What isn't slow is awkward or weak. I mean even the double sword that looks whoosh whoosh locks you into a combo with each press of a button. This reminds me of Dragon's Dogma and that one time I got thrown in jail after I kicked an old man because I got locked into a combo. The worst part about the weapon has got to be the lock-on system that just straight up lies to you. CAPCOM, do you understand what a lock-on system is? It means that whatever I'm targeting and where ever they are, when I initiate my attack, it will go at their direction. You better give the lock-on system more respect from now on, because at it's current state all it does is yank the camera away into an awkward position while my character swings his weapon at God knows what. You know a pretty good example? The smart kid at the next table that gets straight As? The smart nerd whose answers you can peep on? Dark Souls.

Oh look! Another "game journalist" comparing things to Dark Souls, how original. Tell me all about MHW is the "Dark Souls of Monster Hunter".

Yes, I love Dark Souls, but not everything has to be like it. I mean if I fail to make my sex partner cum, I wouldn't want her to kick my balls in and tell me to try again next time after my balls pop out. I only refer to it this time because the lock-on is better than MHW. And in this game where the monsters can leap from Wester Ross to Nova Scotia, I'd say weapon tracking and a decent lock-on system is pretty much mandatory. But that's okay, I've come to accept and embrace it. No! I don't care that my fully charged super swing that I prepared for 5 minutes lands on a different zip-code to where the monster currently is, now stop asking!

In Brief

I love this game. I love taking down big powerful enemies, I love it’s co-op gameplay. Hell, even the strange weapon system is starting to grow on me. I love that it’s simple enough that you can bumble your way to victory, I love that there’s a ton of depth to the build that you can make from the weapons, armors, and the decorations, and I love how the difficulty ramps up nicely that you’ll have to make a build because you will have to master it to take on the really strong hunts. 

That being said, I do have my complaints that I haven’t listed yet. It’s about how the game starts to get flat the moment you’re in your 100s. It’s even flatter if you’re doing it by your lonesome. So basically, it’s like marriage then; you start all lovey dovey, then it gets boring and eveything starts to feel really tough, and then it all falls flat when you reach 100. And by fall flat I mean you die because, uh, life expectancy, man

26/12/2018

Facts Are Not Feelings

The double-edged sword of activism linguistics.

QUEER LANGUAGE

If you know me at all, we’ve probably gotten into a conversation about linguistics at some point.

I’m particularly interested in the way language affects our ability to connect with one another, and how what we say influences how we feel.

A lot of activists in the queer community are also quite concerned with linguistics, and it’s an issue every person seems to relate to differently.

This morning, I woke up to a thread of Facebook comments on a casting call I posted, requesting “male bodied humans”.

The word choice was intentional. I didn’t want to ask for “dudes” or “men” because a fair amount of the dudes and men I know have vaginas. While I love them and want to celebrate their bodies and experiences, this particular project required someone who inhabits a biologically male body, regardless of how they identify their gender, which is a totally personal detail, and doesn’t have a lot to do with the body you inhabit, in my opinion.

Usually, when I’m at work, I am usually “in drag” as a cis-woman - I am dressing the part that society expects when they see my physical form. I’m comfortable with this! I’m also comfortable when I leave the house in jeans and a backwards baseball cap. Because I don’t identify as either gender, dragging as both can be a fun experience, and a powerful way to play with image.

I’m here, I’m queer, and I’m doing my best.

How I choose not to identify seems to cause confusion in people who aren’t up on the “in-group slang” (aka people who exist within the bounds of mainstream culture) — I’m not a man, not a woman, not a feminist, not a liberal socialist, not an anything, really, as I believe identity politics only lead to frustration.

But Tate, didn’t you just tell us all that you’re “queer”?

Yes! I did. That is an identity. You caught me :) While I claim my queerness, I am still a human first. I think that might be what I mean by identity politics — letting a facet of your experience become the lens through which you interpret and interact with the rest of your experiences.

This is hard. I want to be kind and respectful to everyone. I also want to be able to express myself in a way that feels authentic.

This next thing is difficult to say, because I know it will upset some people who are passionate about social justice:

I’m tired of being yelled at. Especially on the internet.

Today, I was accused of marginalizing and contributing to the physical harm of trans people. Going back to labels and identity politics, I don’t choose to call myself trans, though multiple people have told me that technically I qualify as transgender, since I don’t fit into the socially expected gender of my body. I don’t identity as trans because I think that while the word may have a more inclusive annotative definition, it is my perception that transgenderism has been culturally understood as males who identify as women, or females who identify as men.

Let me take a minute to explain this, before you start scrolling to the comment section to tell me that “female” and “male” are improper ways to describe people’s bodies.

Male/female are the medical ways we describe most of the population’s genetic sex. To be crass, a person usually has a sex organ that is either an innie or an outie, and that sex organ usually determines the balance of hormones they have in their body, and the shape and appearance it takes overall. Taking out of the mix people who have modified their bodies with hormones and surgery (fuck yeah for the freedom to body modify!), I am fully aware that individuals exist who’s bodies generate hormone imbalances, or are intersex.

These people are valid, and I care about them. I care about everyone. I want all of us who feel less than supported and celebrated by our current social/political/economic system to be free from whatever is telling them they aren’t allowed to reach their full potential. Just because someone is different than you doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be respected.

A lot of people prefer to use “AFAB/AMAB” or “DFAB/DMAB” — assigned/designated female/male at birth. To me, these terms are practically analogous with “male/female bodied human”, though I can see the argument that FAB/MAB is more inclusive to people who are intersex, as it acknowledges their being marginalized/erased by the medical system.

So why use the clunky term “male/female bodied human” if it causes strife?

Well, I use “female bodied human” to refer to myself, as I find it to be validating of my gender in the many situations where I am qualified for participation due to my female sex, regardless of the fact that I don’t identify as a woman. Work, for one, when it involves playing a role, as it often does. (Quick shoutout to Asia Kate Dillon for using their notoriety to leverage a much-needed change in the entertainment industry!)

Just because a silly string of words makes me feel comfortable, it might not work for everyone. And I think we need to be okay with that!

PRONOUNS

This is something I have struggled with. I prefer “they/them/theirs” pronouns. It’s awkward to ask people to use what feel like foreign language to refer to me. Most who aren’t a part of the queer scene will be confused by me “referring to myself as multiple people”. In a lot of ways, that feels accurate and comfortable for me — it feels like a truer reflection of my multi-faceted human experience. (Not that cis-gendered people can’t have multi-faceted experiences…)

I don’t ever expect perfection, nor total understanding, but if someone wants to be in my life, I do expect them to try. It’s hard to understand someone’s existence that you can’t relate to, but that’s where empathy comes in. While pronouns may be tricky, I don’t think it’s hard to understand someone’s desire to be seen as their true self. I think everyone should have the opportunity to identify however feels authentic, and also to have the freedom to disengage with people who don’t desire to respect their self-perception.

It’s all personal choice!

I identify as human, and I use my human capacities to work towards the greatest good for all humans, as far as I can understand it. Seems simple, right?

As it turns out, not really. Society is big, and takes time to change. We do change, though! Less than one hundred years ago, I likely would have already been jailed for taking one of my love interests on a simple date. In this country’s short existence alone, we have come to see women as more than property, black people as more than slaves, and homosexuals as more than perverts. I know we can do this gender thing, but it’s going to take work.

In the English language, we regard pronouns as a “fixed class” of words. This isn’t technically true, as “fixed” in this case just means “harder to change”, not “permanent”. More than two classes of pronouns for humans is so new to the mainstream, it’s still just a little larvae of a concept. We have a while to go before alternative pronouns are a butterfly of language, free and easy.

EDUCATING THE MAINSTREAM or COMPASSIONATE ACTIVISM

This is not something I ever thought I would say, let alone publish, but I want to publicly thank my mom for getting into a comment debate on my Facebook page. She brought up some valid points, properly gendered me, and was gracious to a stranger who (I believe with good motives) angrily typed in her direction.

Let me paint a picture: my mom is a self-described “boring 52 year-old” real estate agent who lives in San Diego. It has taken years of learning how to share my feelings and preferences with her to help her understand my perspective and experience. The conversation has spanned over a decade, and took a lot of incremental retooling as I became more comfortable with myself, as well as a better communicator.

I started with yelling at her as a teen, and slowly moved through stages of avoidance, confrontation, and finally listening to her — letting her teach me how to ask for what I want from her. We have learned to meet each other halfway in our vastly different life experiences. While one of her best friends is publicly gay, she doesn’t have access to the young, queer scene up here in Los Angeles. Hardly anyone does.

In activist communities, there is a lot of conversation around wanting people who aren’t in the know to “self educate” before they even ask questionsabout someone’s life they can’t begin to understand. Have you ever thought that since these people are open and curious enough to ask questions, they might be worth a few moments of your time and knowledge?

I’ll be the first to admit, if I observe said person starting to speak combatively, I walk away. No one deserves to be the whipping boy of a bigot. I trust you, compassionate activist, to make the distinction between a naive, normal person and someone who is festering in their hatred for things they don’t understand (usually including themselves).

If we weirdos, as the self-appointed teachers of the rest of the known Universe, can take the time to educate ourselves on how to best express our thoughts and ideas, we might start getting somewhere. But please, no more yelling.

I’m not saying no yelling in general, just no yelling at people. If like me, you have neighbors, great places to yell are into a pillow, in your car, and that’s about it.

It is so explicitly important that we learn how to communicate in a way that invites others to experiences and revelations, rather than chastises them for not knowing the newest in-group slang. It’s not fair to be mad at someone for not knowing something that you didn’t know less than a year ago.

If you know something before others, congratulations! You get a chance to be a teacher. It’s one of society’s most esteemed — and poorly paid — positions. In fact, you’ll be doing this job for free. But you don’t care, because you believe in the cause of all people being treated with respect!

So, let’s start by mastering how we introduce our philosophical ideals. Let’s be kind and generous with people who we perceive to be less knowledgable than us.

NON-VIOLENT COMMUNICATION

I can’t recommend highly enough that anyone who does any kind of activism familiarize themselves with the concepts of NVC (Non-Violent Communication), which is self-described as a system of “skills that foster compassionate relating”. I’m not saying it’s a perfect system, but I think it’s a lot better than what we currently fumble with, which is a lot of blaming, name-calling, and CAPS ATTACKS — three things I’m sure your rational mind recognizes as inefficient ways to get people to listen to you.

But Tate, gender/queerness/feminism/racism/etc. are emotional issues! We aren’t allowed to be emotional about emotional issues!?

Yes, these issues have deep emotional ties, which is why the conversation is hard. I’m glad you have strong feelings about oppression! I do too. Let’s examine how we want to transmit our feelings about injustice to those who may not be so aware, in an attempt to bring them on our team of humanist do-gooders. (Yes, it’s probably because of privilege that they aren’t aware of the way that some people struggle. No, I don’t think using the word “privilege” is going to strengthen your argument. It’s still in-group slang.)

Calling someone an oppressor is not going to get them to listen, either. We have to stop blaming white people. We have to stop blaming straight people. We have to stop blaming men. Mainstream culture is a representation of the average social experience. Yes, we can look back and see that a lot of our societal infrastructure is the product of many years of non-consensual power imbalance, but that doesn’t mean that every straight white guy alive today has to pay for it. It’s no more their fault that our world is unfair than it’s your fault for being whatever you are.

I’m saddened by the number of awake, compassionate men I know who have expressed the only way they feel welcome in any political conversation is to shut up, and publicly reduce themselves to a string of insults, “I’m a hopelessly cis-straight-white guy”. Perpetuating the cycle of blame and shame is not what we need. We need everyone on board, inspired to be their most compassionate and inclusive selves. We can’t do this by alienating most of the mainstream population, a lot of whom are smart and have skills to contribute.

If you have someone in your life who you want to introduce to the concepts that have freed your mind from the oppressive systems at play, please treat them with the same respect you want to be treated with.

I often find this NVC formula quite helpful. Ready for a mini lesson?

Verbally identifying these aspects of emotionally charged situations — in order — has been extremely valuable to me.

Observation

Feeling

Need

Request

Observation: What this means is, first, I want to identify — without judgement — exactly what is happening. This is different than an interpretation of events, which is often how we defend ourselves when we feel our ideology or identity is being threatened. I’m not using this example to shame anyone, but because it is fresh in my mind, I will use the Facebook debate as an example.

With the use of NVC skills, the conversation might have looked more like this:

“I notice that you’ve used the term “male-bodied humans” to effectively refer to “men”. Some trans people have told me that this is not how they like to be identified.”

2. Feeling: Next, I like to relate how what I’m observing affects me. Not how the other person “makes” me feel, because that isn’t a real thing, but how I naturally react to what I’m observing.

“I feel uncomfortable knowing that some people might feel excluded or erased by your choice of words.”

3. Need: This is the most important part. Relating your feelings back to a universal human need, and acknowledging the other person’s needs establishes mutual respect and understanding. Helping your conversation partner feel seen and cared for will do the opposite of attacking them - it has the potential to open them up to learning something new.

“I recognize our need to be specific when referring to people, and to have clear concepts for effective communication. I also want to respect the needs of others to be seen and accepted with our use of language.”

4. Request: Lastly, this is how adults ask each other for things. We make requests. We don’t demand, and we don’t passive-aggressively stew in our disbelief that someone hasn’t already read our mind and acted perfectly according to our silent desires. We ask specifically for what we want out of the interaction, and are prepared to hear “no”. No ultimatums.

“May I request you consider changing the term you use? I can suggest a different term that might be more palatable to more people.”

SUBJECTIVE OBJECTIVITY

People are rooted in their personal experiences more than anything. We all experience our objective reality through unique, subjective lenses.

Because my subjectivity has led me to like the term “male/female bodied human”, it will probably take me a good amount of convincing that my preferred terminology (as someone who is already on the fringe of society) is unacceptable.

We run on an infinite treadmill of PC terms turning into slurs. It seems like each week another word goes out of vogue. We can’t get mad at each other for not knowing the latest, least “offensive” way to refer a person or concept.

We aren’t going to achieve equality by cyclically pushing people down and blaming them for our problems, which are all built on the backs of dead people. That’s why our prisons are filled to the brim with people of color. That’s why trans people are getting murdered daily. It’s not because I used the term “male/female bodied” (as a fellow “trans” person!) — it’s because we don’t know how to change the mind of the opposition.

This is exactly why political revolutions fail: the oppressed become the oppressors. Facts are great, but they won’t change people’s minds. People aren’t changed by statistics and lecturing. People are changed by personal experience — in other words, people’s opinions are changed by their feelings. (Ever wonder how Trump became our leader? Certainly not with facts.)

New Post has been published on Austen Marriage

New Post has been published on http://austenmarriage.com/rules-road-regency-language/

Rules of the Road for Regency Language

Recently, some writers online were discussing language, particularly the use of language for an historical period such as the Regency age. I was traveling and unable to jump into the discussion, but the comments set me to reflect about my approach—which I had considered for quite a while as I began my historical fiction based on Jane Austen’s life.

As for general language, I take the actor’s approach when preparing to play an historical character: don’t imitate the person, inhabit the person. Learn all you can, absorb the way the individual thinks, feels, and acts, then speak naturally. The voice will come to you. Afterward, with a period piece, check for anachronisms. It’s not unusual for me to check five or six words a page. Trouble is, some old English words sound new, and some new English words sound old. “Ignition,” for example, sounds like a modern word: We relate it to car ignitions, “ignition, liftoff,” and so on. However, this word has been firing up our vocabulary since at least 1612.

The discussion covered a variety of bugaboos, mostly prohibitions that grammarians in the 19th Century tried to force on English to make it more like Latin, to rein in English’s sprawling structure to become more “proper.”

Among these rules, there’s no law against beginning a sentence with “And” or “But” or other conjunctions; however, that usage was not typical of traditional English and it does sound modern. Austen, though, uses an opening conjunction once in a while. Here’s an early example from “Mansfield Park,” when Fanny is trying to settle in: “And sitting down by her, he was at great pains to overcome her shame in being so surprised, and persuade her to speak openly.”

When I begin a sentence with a conjunction, it is usually to express a character’s thoughts, to distinguish a character who speaks abruptly, or to mark the less formal aspect of speech. Austen does the last in the same section in “Mansfield”: “And remember that, if you are ever so forward and clever yourselves, you should always be modest; for, much as you know already, there is a great deal more for you to learn.”

Austen commonly uses the “semicolon-and”; perhaps fifty for every “period-and.” Why should the former be seen as stately English, connecting two balanced phrases, and the latter as improper?

Split infinitives are another bogus issue. English is an accented language, and sometimes sentences split an infinitive for the rhythm: “To boldly go where no one has gone before” is a “Star Trek” phrase in almost perfect iambic. “To go boldly” or “Boldly to go” strike the English ear as wrong.

The phrase originated in a 1958 White House pamphlet on space travel; it was amended to “where no man has gone before” for the first “Star Trek” television series, then returned to “where no one has gone before” for the revival, “Star Trek: The Next Generation.” The phrase is also brought out in the split-infinitive debate. I’ve always wondered why the phrase wasn’t “to boldly go where none has gone before,” because that is perfect iambic pentameter. Perhaps the author thought it sounded too lyrical. Or perhaps “none” might have been contradicted by alien species, of which there are aplenty boldly going somewhere in the “Star Trek” saga.

There are other sentences in which the only correct sense requires the infinitive to be split. How else could you construct the following: “Prices are expected to more than double by next year.” The words that split the infinitive are nothing more than modifiers of the main verb; i.e., adverbs.

Split prepositions are also fine. Both Austen and Shakespeare used them. When challenged on his use of sentence-ending prepositions, Winston Churchill is reputed to have responded: “This is the kind of arrant pedantry up with which I will not put!” Though there is no definitive source of the remark that traces directly to the British Prime Minister, it sounds like the English bulldog—though he might have thrown in a “bloody” or two. Ending a sentence with a preposition is fine if it gives the sentence a punch. The same is true of keeping the preposition with its object where it technically belongs.

Among the other language issues that arose in the earlier lively discussion, I admit that it bugs me when people don’t know the difference between “farther” and “further,” but Jane Austen didn’t. Neither did Thomas Hardy, who wrote nearly a hundred years later. They both used “further” to mean distance. “Further” has always had the broader sense, but it’s a relatively recent development to separate the two so that “farther” means only “distance” and “further” means everything else. A nice distinction, but new.

Having been a copy editor, I learned and enforced all the rules. I was part of the priesthood. Over many years since, I have become more flexible. I do not believe technicalities should overcome the sense the writer is trying to convey. Some technically correct solutions are so cumbersome they break the spell by taking the reader out of the story. Usually, the best solution is to rewrite the sentence entirely, but that sometimes creates other problems.

I have a good friend and fellow writer who was never very good with spelling and punctuation. He asked me one time if the technical stuff really mattered, since the writer must focus on content. I replied that the rules were part of our box of tools and after twenty or thirty years we should be able to use them. I noticed decided technical improvements in his work after that. These changes, in turn, led to crisper writing. Sharpening his tools paid off.

There are many good style guides, from the plain and simple “AP Style Book” to the dense and complex “Chicago Manual of Style.” Even when the rules seem unintelligible, you can usually find an example that matches the phrase you’re concerned about. E.B. White’s “Elements of Style” is another classic, more about elegant writing than technical style.

One of the problems for American writers with an English audience is the difference between English spelling and punctuation and American spelling and punctuation. Some of the differences, mostly in spelling, evolved over time (“colour” = “color”, “encyclopaedia” = “encyclopedia”). A few developed independently (automobile “boot” = automobile “trunk”).

The main differences, however, happened abruptly and deliberately. Have you ever wondered why American punctuation is the inverse of English? American usage begins with a double quotation mark, and any interior quote is a single quotation mark: “Jones said angrily, ‘I hate quotes within quotes!’ ” English usage is the opposite: ‘Jones said angrily, “I hate quotes within quotes!” ’ Another difference is that in English usage, a noun that has a plural sense takes a plural referent: “The government/they.” In American usage, the same word has a singular sense: “The government/it.”

The reason is purely arbitrary. After the Revolutionary War, American printers wanted protection from the more established and cost-efficient British publishers. In a patriotic and protectionist fervor, Americans established a style just different enough to keep British printers from winning U.S. print contracts. It was the literary equivalent of driving on the other side of the road.

(Originally, most nations used the left side of the road in order to have the (right-handed) sword hand in a protective position against people coming the other way. The U.S. switch to the right side related to Napoleon’s preference for the right, which shifted the continent in that direction, and to the larger freight wagons over here in the U.S., which favored a rider on the left rear horse. This person would have a whip in his right hand for the horses and would want to see oncoming traffic on his left, putting his wagon on the right.)

Back to language. In some cases, the arbitrariness of the grammatical rule frustrates sense.

Consider a mixed group of men and women asked a question, and no one knows the answer. Which should it be:

“Everyone shook his head in confusion.” grammatically correct but leaves out women

“Everyone shook her head in confusion.” grammatically correct but leaves out men

“Everyone shook their heads in confusion.” grammatically incorrect but correctly inclusive

Most “singular/he” constructions can be avoided by changing the noun to plural, something like “people/they.” This is one example of trying to write around the problem. Most grammarians say it is fine to use the “everyone/they” construction in informal usage, but not in formal usage. I would normally use “everyone/he” or “everyone/she” in nonfiction, depending on sense. Nonfiction wants to be rigorous. In the above example, I would use “everyone/they” in fiction. Why? Because in fiction, there’s a different kind of rigor, which is maintaining the spell of the scene. There is no good substitute for the word “everyone” in English. Try recasting the above sentence to “people” and you’ll see what I mean: “People shook their heads in confusion.” What people? Everyone!

Also, rewriting the section might create more awkwardness than it solves; and being the way most of us speak, “everyone/they” is far less intrusive to a reader who, you hope, is caught up in your story. If the only one who objects is a grammar freak, I’m OK with that. I know I would have tried every workaround beforehand.

There’s only one unbreakable grammatical rule: You can’t break a rule unless you fully understand it, know why it exists, and have a good reason to break it.

As an American, I use U.S. spelling and punctuation. I know the obvious differences between U.S. and UK style, but a UK publisher will be far more capable than I of properly dealing with the nuances. English and American readers buy the opposite editions all the time, and neither has any trouble reading the other’s punctuation and spelling style. The best thing is to be proper and consistent with whichever you use.

When writing from an English point of view, however, I avoid Americanisms. In writing about Austen, I have readers versed in both the Regency period and UK English review my work before I publish. I have been corrected in the American use of “fall” for “autumn,” “creek” for “brook,” and a few other such provincialisms. I was embarrassed to learn from an English friend that I used the American “momma” instead of the English “mama” near the end of Volume II of “The Marriage of Miss Jane Austen,” my novel on Austen’s life, after having used the correct form earlier. This was a late addition and suffered from the lack of vetting.

A few times, my intrepid early readers caught a few words they thought were anachronisms but were not. One flagged “administratrix” as modern technical, but it goes back to circa 1561. I follow a rule similar to that of Regina Jeffers, another Austen blogger, who will use a word if its documented use comes within ten or twenty years of the time she writes about. The rationale is that a word must have been circulating in speech for a while before it became part of the written lexicon. In my Austen trilogy, the character Ashton Dennis uses the word “stomp” in late 1802. The first known written use of the word was 1803. I decided that Ashton must have been the one to coin it.