My one true wish is to break from the chains of the goods this material reality has to offer. Money, otherwise wealth, approval, popularity... impressions, experiences, sights... love, contribution to this world...

Paradox of enriching oneself spiritually is that agnosticism/nihilism to (this) reality won’t get anyone far. Interacting with material reality IS a way to enrich oneself spiritually, to manifest as a person and not just a drop in the eternal stream of universal energy. But material reality’s values are cruel and so close to getting a person tangled in them.

It is all about keeping the fire but not letting it burn you alive, is it?

Hi! I just wanted to ask: what advice would you give someone who wants to start writing fanfiction for the 1st time, without any real writing experience? Have a nice day!

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

i'm always honoured to be identified as someone who might have something meaningful to say about writing - and so i always worry about doing justice to questions like this without coming across as being flippant.

because i don't think its ever worth giving advice on writing style or techniques, because these are so inherently subjective. i am an unabashed plantser - i have a vague idea of how i expect a story to go [and i always skip to the ending first, harry burns style], but i let the muses take me where they will otherwise - and this obviously affects everything else about my writing process: whether i like to stick to a specific posting schedule [no]; where i begin in a scene [dialogue]; whether i prefer short or long pieces [yes]; what sort of themes i want to look at; my attitude towards the source material [i believe in the value of canon coherence, but i'm not drawn towards trying to make my work unclockably canon-compliant]; what i find useful to receive from others during the writing process; and the fact that i like to play with genres, themes, and pairings.

if these things don't apply to you - and there's no reason why they should, even after you've been writing fic for a century - then i don't think i'm qualified to give you any advice on how you should go about putting words on a page.

but i do think i can give you something.

because if you want to start writing fanfiction - as is the case for everything else you will want to start doing in your life - there is only one key principle to bear in mind:

fortune favours the bold

by which i mean, at the most basic level, that the only way to start writing fanfiction is to... start writing fanfiction. the only way that you'll ever know if it's something you enjoy doing - and what it is about it that you like, what you find instinctive, what you don't, what your "voice" is, which characters you find harder than others to bring to life, what techniques you'll use to plan, how your work will be received, how that will make you feel, how your style will change the longer you write, and so on - is to grit your teeth and just take the leap.

but i also think that remembering that fortune favours the bold is a fandom principle which serves us all very well in a context broader than just tapping out fics while hunched over our keyboards.

because boldness is synonymous with courage - and writing something and putting it out into the world does take courage! - but it's a courage which has quite a distinctive style.

boldness is not solemn, quietly-enduring, captain-going-down-with-his-ship bravery. to be bold is to be audacious, daring, cheeky, innovative, and a little bit irreverent. it's not someone saying mournfully over your coffin "she fought bravely to the bitter end" - it's someone looking at you in awe and saying "how the fuck did you pull that off?"

and this matters in fandom. because participating in fandom - whether you end up writing fic or not - takes a hell of a lot of brass neck.

after all, each of us has ended up here because we looked at canon and said "sorry - did you think you were done?"

and then - when canon got flustered and started stammering - each of us has rolled our eyes, rolled up our sleeves, and said "don't worry, hen. you can leave it to me."

to be in fandom is to have the audacity to treat the text as a springboard - rather than something which remains behind glass in a museum. it's deciding to fling the characters we love into genres they don't originally come from and revelling in the chaos which ensues. it's finding missing moments and daring them to be just as important as a canon scene. it's the fun of wildly improbable alternate universes - from dystopian horror to coffee shops. it's cheerfully ignoring that there's a point canon thinks its story ends - whether that's finishing narratives which end unsatisfactorily or just playing with happy-ever-after. it's taking two characters who never interact in canon, winking at the camera, and making them kiss. it's taking two characters who never interact in canon, winking at the camera, and making them fuck. it's having the time of your life becoming a malevolent deity and making a character suffer.

while it might not always feel this way, at its core fandom is fun. and it's fun in a way which is quite unusual in this day-and-age - in that it's something we get to shape for ourselves, rather than having to engage with a product according to the whims of the corporation marketing it. it lets us be indulgent without calling us greedy. it lets us chatter away at each other without calling us unproductive. it lets us be sincere without requiring performative earnestness from us. it lets us engage with the uncomfortable and the lurid without the bland sanitisation of respectability.

and it allows us to be hopeful.

and i have always been struck by just how much about fandom rests on hope.

to believe that the dead can live happily in another universe, to believe that time-travel can fix things, to believe that bad people can get their comeuppance, to believe that good people can be imperfect and it doesn't matter one bit, to believe that those who are hurt can be comforted, to believe that justice can be done, to believe that villains can be redeemed, to believe that an insignificant background character matters just as much as the hero, to believe that things can be better - whether your story is overthrowing a corrupt government or letting two people enjoy themselves uncovering a kink, to believe that the most improbable people can love each other - romantically or not... all of this takes hope.

and hope takes boldness.

so be bold and start writing.

be cheeky. take risks. be your own biggest fan. be irreverent. be cunning. recognise that not taking fandom too seriously is self-protective. be self-indulgent. have some self-awareness. be collegiate. gas up your friends whenever you can. be nice to your commenters and try and give them the benefit of the doubt if they express themselves poorly. be curious. regard disagreement as interesting. be compassionate. be tenacious. be prepared to write stuff that flops. be prepared to write stuff that gets left on the drawing-board. be prepared to write stuff people hate. be prepared to write stuff you hate. be audacious. believe you can do it. be hopeful. be daring. be brave. and be bold.

because i promise you that, even if you've never written a word of fic before, you can write your way into and out of anything - any fic, any trope, any pairing, any characterisation choice, any plot hole, any setting, any premise - and have fun and look good doing it.

if you simply have enough nerve.

Hi! I wanted to ask your opinion on why you enjoy Kuroshitsuji if it isn’t too much to answer. Recently I have been feeling like I’m being ‘punished’ for enjoying Kuro because I always see people talking bad about it and Yana on twitter. 😅 I am well aware Kuro has a lot of issues but I really enjoy the characters and such but the opinions of people about the series kind of has been hurting me as a fan and thus I have been losing interest🥲 I was hoping I can talk to someone who is a fan of Kuro that can help give me some mindset or something. I have been drawing for Kuro for years so I’m quite passionate towards the series and Yana herself and but this has been bugging me. If you can’t answer this it is totally okay and you can delete this ask❣️

Hi, anon! That’s not too much at all! My apologies for the late response; I wanted to make sure I could sit down to properly get my thoughts in order before answering.

My love for Kuro was originally (and is to this day) rooted in the source material. The manga and anime introduced me to some of my most beloved fictional characters, including Miss Grelle—as attested to by my url! 😉 The story instantly had me hooked with its campy hijinks, tragic undertones, and forays into the dark corners of the human psyche. Even with the current lag in pacing, I’m excited to see where the Phantomfam’s adventures take us next! And, of course, I would be remiss without mentioning the artwork. In a visual medium like manga, aesthetics can make or break your enjoyment of a series, and Kuro’s Victorian steampunk flair is perfectly suited to my tastes, especially with the steady improvement in quality as Yana’s honed her craft over the years.

However, particularly during this dry season of short chapters and plodding plot progression, it’s the community that grew up around Kuro that nourishes my love for it the most. Naysayers condescendingly sneer that the fandom is dead, but the incredible art, funny memes, awesome animations, excellent fics (some of which outshine published novels I’ve read), insightful meta and more that I see across my dash and in the tags suggest otherwise. And when we come together (such as during past fandom weeks or @anewp0tat0 ‘s recent event to celebrate the 200th chapter) that display of talent burns even brighter. As a writer, building up lore in headcanons and fic or reading my mutual’s creative interpretations of Yana’s world is just as fun—if not more so—than engaging with the actual manga. That enrichment alone is enough to keep me invested in the Kuroverse for the foreseeable future.

The series also holds considerable sentimental value for me because it served as the catalyst for my queer awakening and brought friends and loved ones into my life who I would never have met otherwise. Even if the day comes when I put Kuroshitsuji on the shelf in favor of other stories, that positive impact will remain.

However, that doesn’t mean that the series or fandom are perfect. Yana’s sleazy past and irresponsible pandering to the gross side of the fandom are an unpleasant reality with which we must contend, as are the fujoshis, transphobes, and other creeps—some of whom proved to be a genuine danger to minors—who continue to give us a bad name. But those people who blindly label Kuro as wholesale trash and accuse all fans of condoning the problematic content merely betray their simplistic, black-and-white way of thinking. We cannot and should not sweep the objectionable aspects of the series under the rug, but we can interact with Kuro critically—recognizing and calling out the areas in need of improvement while also cherishing the best parts of this cursed butler manga. As long as you’re consuming media responsibly, and in a way that doesn’t actively harm others, then you have no reason to feel guilty. You sure as heck don’t deserve to be punished!

Ignore the haters as best you can, and try to focus on what first ignited your passion for Kuro; don’t let those jerks steal your joy. 😤 Alternatively, if you need to take a break from that onslaught of negativity and just rest for a bit, that’s fine, too! There’s no shame in stepping away to recharge, and you shouldn’t push yourself to participate in fandom if doing so is detrimental to your well-being.

I’m sorry to hear that you’ve been having a tough time over on the bird app, but I hope my answer was helpful and that Kurohell can continue to be a happy, welcoming place for you! 🖤

June 2023 Full Moon Tarotscope

June 2023 Full Moon Tarotscope The June 2023 Full Moon in Sagittarius is called the Strawberry Moon. A full moon, along with a few days before and after, is the best time for releasing that which no longer serves you and gives a powerful boost to anything you've been working on. This Full Moon in Sagittarius brings "The Big Picture" into focus, helping you to zoom out to see things as a whole instead of being bogged down by all the tiny details. Being detailed is necessary but so is taking a step back to see how well it all fits together. If you'd like to know more about this full moon and get a few ideas for journal prompts, check out Full Moon June 3rd/4th - 5 Things to Know, By Alina Alive on YouTube. This forecast covers the time period of June 3rd, 2023 through July 2nd, 2023. Time and energy are fluid so if you're seeing this at a later date then it will still apply. This is a general reading so take what resonates and leave the rest.

Aries, March 21 - April 19

There is a big potential for meeting someone new or deepening your connection with somebody significant in your life. This person could be romantic, plutonic, or business-related and there is a message here regarding balance. While you may find inspiration in this connection, make sure you're not so entrenched that you don't put that inspiration to good use. Not giving each other necessary alone time can be damaging to both the relationship and the everyday responsibilities that need your attention. Use the energy of this full moon to review priorities and rearrange things so they're more manageable for you at this time.

Taurus, April 20 - May 20

When you've put so much blood, sweat, tears, and time into something, it's only natural for you to try to protect it and keep it to yourself. However, some things are not meant to be kept in the dark. It's fine to catch up and/or rest up for a little while but it's time to release this thing and let the world, or the people in your own little world, see what it is that you've been guarding so dearly. Your ability to put it out there will be very helpful to others, multiplying its value in you own heart.

Gemini, May 21 - June 21

You've put a lot of hard work into healing from some pretty big emotional wounds and traumas that may have been created in childhood or in your 20s. If you're wondering why certain habits, behaviors, and flashbacks still occur, do not worry, you've done far better than you think! It took a long time to form these trauma responses so it will take some more time for the effects to show. Use the energy of this full moon to burn the material things, including journal entries and pictures that are tied to this trauma to aid in its release.

Cancer, June 22 - July 23

Though it seems like things have been moving super fast, even chaotically, the good results don't seem to be moving at the same pace. You're doing everything right, with the exception of one thing. You don't believe in yourself or your ability to make it happen. Your hope and belief are the key to everything you want. That's not to say that you can make your doubt disappear, never to be heard from again, you have to learn how to catch your thoughts in the moment and remind yourself it's just your fear talking. Although learning to replace your thoughts is a long game, your intentions and practice will speed things up on the material realm.

Leo, July 24 - August 23

You might be feeling somewhat stuck in several areas of life at this time. Nothing seems to be changing and, in truth, there isn't a lot of movement behind the scenes either. Do not take this as a bad thing, even if your situation is incredibly difficult. This is the time to tighten things up a bit to prepare for when things start to move again because they will move rather quickly. Use the energy of this move to clear out what isn't helpful at this time and aim to see things in a different light. You are not stuck, you are preparing for the next leg of your journey.

Virgo, August 24 - September 22

You might be wishing that some things were what they used to be, days, people, and situations seemed so much less complicated. Well, hindsight is not 20/20 like we tend to think it is. Memories change over time. We keep the bits that make us feel how we want to feel about it, positive or negative, and the rest fades away. Even if your memories are exactly what you think they are, they are not templates for the future or even the present. You're a different person now with so many options available to you! It's time to set out on new expeditions and create new traditions and memories.

Libra, September 23 - October 22

This is the perfect time to remind you that slow and steady wins the race. You are building a firm foundation for the life you are creating and moving fast often misses important details. Keep a steady pace so you don't have to rebuild yet again. I strongly recommend that you try to create a habit of meditating to help you distinguish between anxiety and intuition. Start with just 5 minutes and attach it to an existing habit like right after a shower or while you're having your first cup of good stuff in the morning.

Scorpio, October 23 - November 22

While you're hustling and grinding, make sure that you pay attention to your processes, priorities, and scheduling. You're trying to make sustainable moves so don't set a pace that you won't be able to keep up with in the long term. There is usually a need to put in a lot of time and effort in the beginning in order to make less work for yourself in the future, just make sure to reevaluate and make small adjustments frequently, and write down your processes as well so you have to think a little less as you find your zone.

Sagittarius, November 23 - December 20

It looks like your heart, creativity, and passion are just about exploding at this time! Allow yourself to feel all the things but make sure you don't make any decisions or make any moves while you're so amped up. A promise or offer made with good intentions during a time of high emotion is likely to be broken. Wisdom is giving yourself time to feel all the things and then time to calmly contemplate before any actions are taken or any words are said.

Capricorn, December 21 - January 20

Beware of self-sabotage! When things seem to be going well for us, we have a tendency to anticipate the thing that will ruin it all. This is another case of past experience trying to inform current and future experiences. You might still be you but you are so different from the you that you remember. You now have better judgement and attract so much better into your life. Beautiful things are happening so enjoy every little bit!

Aquarius, January 21 - February 19

You may be full to bursting with great ideas and plans. While this is a wonderful thing, even if a bit manic, it can be quite overwhelming. Keep a notebook handy, real or digital, so you can get it out of your brain as soon as the thought occurs to you. I've learned to prioritize and organize my thoughts and notes in much the same way as I would a room or projects at work. I have a pen and paper by me at all times. I might pick out some high-priority, immediate, or quick tasks right away and add them to the task list on my phone. Then, about once a month, I'll log my notes and split them between 2 other places. The first is for the things I would like to implement soon and the second is for the "back-burner" stuff. I can then move something from the back-burner stuff to a higher priority list when I'm ready.

Pisces, February 20 - March 20

If you've been really wanting to do something but are worried about the potential "bad" side effects then this is your sign. Don't overthink it. A leap of faith will set you on a path you couldn't have dreamed of! Obviously, I'm not telling you to jump into something you know is a bad situation. This is something you feel is right but outside influences or past experiences might have you doubting your intuition. Dive in, ride that wave, and don't look back! Read the full article

For Myself

Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: nsfw mention. mention of violence, blood, injury, and cannibalism. implied murder. starts off kind of dark but gets fluffier towards the end. gn!reader.

obligatory warning for my poor editing skills. if theres any egregious errors i'll get to them when i get home from work

Summary: some fluff where Sukuna comforts the reader while they're sick

Word Count: 2.4k

He's certain you would be more comfortable in his lap than on the floor. Even as he beckons you to sit, you refuse, turning your gaze away. You adjust your position to a more comfortable spot on your knees. The floor is hard and cold, but you don't have much longer to wait anyway. Sukuna has grown bored of the man standing in front of him. A peace offering, in exchange for not razing their village. A young woman, brought here against her own will. Her life to replace yours. It's nothing Sukuna wants, nor can he make use of her. She’s no sorcerer, likely no good in a fight, and too frail to be worth eating.

Worst of all, it insults you.

An insult to you, is an insult to Sukuna himself.

The man was only delaying the inevitable. Humans have a habit of doing that. They’re resilient, like cockroaches. You can squash, poison, trap, or drop a nuke on as many as you want to, but they’ll always come back.

He planned on killing him from the moment he stepped foot in the door.

And when he kills him, he makes sure to have the woman watch. She lays curled at your feet as you regard them both with cold eyes. Not a scream passes her lips. She’s either frozen with fear, or knows that moving is the worst thing she can do.

She begs for her life.

Sukuna leaves it up to you to decide.

It was an insult to you, after all. In a past life you could see yourself letting her go. There's many things in life you used to do that are no longer habits of yours. You were in her shoes years ago. Time has hardened you, made you cruel. If a past version of you could look at you now, you don't know if you’d recognize yourself. Not all change is bad. People are meant to change, and they’re going to do so.

You give her a minute to start running. After that, it's up to Sukuna with what he wants to do with her.

She takes the opportunity, thinking she has a chance to survive, and flees. The guards and servants let her. Your word is second to Sukuna’s. The only person who could overturn an order put in place by you is Sukuna himself. He usually doesn't. The resulting chaos from anything you do is good entertainment. And he has all the time in the world. Being immortal leads to a lot of boredom.

Sukuna would hunt her down before she could escape the estate.

Nobody got away from him. Not even you. Nowadays you’re much less serious about leaving but you still threaten it if he dares piss you off.

He'd never let you go. You know that. Try as you will, you're never getting free.

Not that you have anything to go back to. And you're rather comfortable here. Comfortable may be a bit of a stretch, but you're housed, fed, and protected. The basic human needs are taken care of. Sukuna cares about you in his own, twisted way. You may have first been just a plaything to keep his stomach full and his balls empty—a toy to be discarded after a day or two—but you've earned a place by his side. He wakes up next to you, he goes to sleep next to you. He's grown used to having you around. And you to him.

You're just as much his, as he is yours.

Everything about the man is selfish, and all-consuming. But when he is with you, he finds himself giving for the first time in his life.

He gets a servant to draw him a bath. He has the decency to scrub the blood off before finding you, and asking you to join him. His bloodied kimono is replaced with a clean one. It's black, the sleeves are wide enough to accommodate his four arms. Blood doesn't bother you, but he doesn't want to track it all over his house.

Something is wrong.

He doesn't remember you getting hurt, but you’re acting like you’re injured. He thinks back to this morning, how he had to drag you out of bed. How sluggish you acted.

Worry creases itself between his eyebrows.

Your mortality was something he knew of, but never gave much thought. There was no need to. The mortality of others was something he didn't care about. You weren't supposed to be kept long. You were merely a sacrifice, meant to appease Sukuna, and in turn he wouldn't raze your village. While young, and pretty, not good enough to save your people. He planned on fucking you, burning your village to the ground, then eating you. Not necessarily in that order, but that was the plan.

He's taken everything from you. Your home, your life, your family. Even as you were forced to face your fate, you never gave in, never lost your bite. You defied him and lived. You had a malicious streak in you. You were never as sweet and as innocent as the people of your village first played you up to be. Years later you still put up the same fight. It's a constant back and forth between you two.

You’d never be able to hurt him. As much as you'd scratch and bite, you'd never so much as draw blood. Harming the King of Curses was not an easy task.

His 'love' was much more material at first. As you got settled down, survived more than a week, gifts appeared. Jeweled hair pins and beautiful, expensive kimonos appeared. All made just for you. He'd never admit to being behind it. You were not complacent, but you were comfortable. You were his spoiled pet. That didn't stop you from clawing at his eyes whenever he picked you up when you didn't want to be touched. Being spoiled didn't make you nice.

None of his pets have lasted quite as long as you have. At least eight times the trees of his estate have shriveled and turned brown in winter, and the ground has hardened with frost. At least eight times they've bloomed and have had the life of spring breathed back into them, and the ground has thawed and turned muddy. You just did what you had to in order to survive. You've more than just survived. Some would say you’ve thrived. You would beg to differ. If you were the begging type.

He still views you as a pet. You’re human after all. Though sometimes it feels like you’re becoming more curse than human. Being viewed as an equal to him is impossible, but he values you. You're not something that can easily be replaced.

His hand touches your shoulder from behind. You don't flinch. You used to flinch. Then you started swinging. You're never able to hurt him. You're strong, but not that strong.

"She was far too frail to eat," you say, "I assumed you didn't want to keep her for that."

You don't eat human meat. Or try not to. Early on in your stay, before you knew better… It wasn't pork. Uraume was a wonderful cook, but not for anything you ate. Personally it's not your thing. Non-human meat is hard to come by around here, so you’ve stopped eating the stuff altogether. If you wanted it, Sukuna would make a servant get it for you, but you are content without it.

"You made the right call." He says. You always do.

He slips beside you, watching as you remove the intricate pins from your hair. You always loved your hair. Even at your darkest moment you took great care of it. It was a source of pride for you.

A wave of nausea rolls over you. Sweat beads in your hairline, rolling down your back, under the thin fabric of your—his—robe. You have little need for clothes. It doesn't get that cold here. Sukuna tears them off you anyway. Covering yourself up isn't necessary, but you do it out of modesty, and a sense of normalcy. You protest as he pulls at the fastenings of your robe, the flimsy fabric pooling at your feet. You have no plans on getting wet, you’d much rather go to bed. You’re tired, and you don't want to be bothered.

The tub is large enough to fit several of you. You guess it's fitting. The man is huge. He settles into the water behind you, pulling you to his chest. Try as you will, you’re not going to be able to struggle out of his grip. You’re too tired to put up much of a fight, though you do complain.

One of his sets of arms wraps around you, effectively trapping you in place. The other pulls a washcloth from the side of the tub, into the water with you. As much as you hate to admit it, the warm water feels nice against your sore muscles.

Sukuna is not a sentimental man. But with the way his hands trace across your skin, soft, lovingly, like he’s reading a book of braille, makes you think otherwise. He doesn't leer at the curves of your body like he normally does. His eyes scan across your body, looking for any sign of injury.

When he deems you clean enough, and your skin has turned a nice shade of pink from the hot water, he lets you go. You're the first to get out, drying yourself off. You never realized how cold the room was before.

He hauls you into his arms. You do little to protest, which worries him.

The King of Curses has no need for sleep. The bed mostly serves for asthetic purposes, though he's not opposed to fucking you across any flat surface, you seem to favor softer ones.

Much like the tub, his bed is large enough to fit several of you. You feel dwarfed by its size. The man is huge, he needs a bed to fit. You could sprawl out as wide as possible and never have any of your limbs hanging over the sides.

He follows you, silent.

He can't recall ever letting any of his pets share his bed before. Some have tried. Tried. He can't recall any of them surviving as long as you have, either. He finds himself irritated at the thought of anything bad ever happening to you.

He doesn't join you in bed.

He doesn't need sleep the same way humans do. He can, but if he were to decide not to, it would bring no harm to him. He used to never dream. It was something he did, back when he was human, but that time has long passed. But whenever he dreamed, he’d wake up next to you. Experiences like that made him realize just why humans like to sleep so much. Before he never woke up rested; he was never tired in the first place.

You shove the covers aside and crawl underneath. They smell like him. He snubs out the candle burning on the side table with his index finger and thumb. Though it's dark, there’s enough light in the room to make out his much-larger form.

You shiver, although sweat forms along your skin in a thin sheen. Sukuna knows it's not cold. He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The back of his hand presses to your forehead. You’re burning up.

You were warm before, but he thought it was because of the bath. He’s not really sure what to do. It's rare moments like these that he's forced to face your mortality. He knows you're fragile—compared to him—but he can't bear the thought of something bad happening to you.

One of his large hands moves to cup your cheek. It's just as warm as your forehead. The pad of his thumb runs across your cheekbone.

"Stay with me." You say. You stretch your arms out towards him, making grabbing motions with your hands.

You’re not one to beg. Even when faced with death, you look it straight in the eyes. Call it bravery, or lack of self preservation. He admired that about you. You ignored your mortality because it did not matter to you.

“What's the matter, pet?”

“I don't feel too good.” You say.

Though he doesn't say it, he can tell.

“I’ll get Uraume-”

“No,” your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him back towards your chest, “no. I’m okay.”

He settles down beside you in bed, on top of the covers. When he opens his arms, you go right into them. He makes sure to keep the blankets tucked around you. Sukuna runs warm naturally. You huddle close to him, trying to steal his warmth. Though your face feels abnormally warm, you shiver. His much larger body lays partially on top of yours, his head resting on your chest, ear pressed to your skin. He can hear your heartbeat. Steady, and alive. Something low in your chest rattles when you breathe.

He should get a servant to bring you water, or some tea. It occurs to him how little he knows about the mundane things humans do to make themselves feel better. Not that he ever needed to care. In all the years you’ve been by his side, he’s never seen anything like this happen. He can't decide, and instead calls for both. If you need medicine, he’ll get that too, but you don't seem to be at that point. Uraume knows more about humans than he does. He’s no doctor, but he’ll work. If he asks you, you’ll just say you’re fine.

He holds the cup up to you, beckoning you to drink. The glass is cold against your lips. Even as your hands wrap around it, he doesn't let it go. He sets the empty glass on the side table with a soft thunk.

His large hand smoothes over your head, brushing your hair out of your eyes. His nails feel nice against your scalp. Nothing about the man is soft, but when he’s left alone with you, moments like this are bound to happen. You allow yourself to be pet. The heat, combined with the weight of his body, threatens to lull you off to sleep. The ache in your joints keeps you from doing so.

When he kisses you, you taste like a curse.

What is Critical Race Theory?

Basically, Critical Race Theory is a way of using race as a lens through which one can critically examine social structures. While initially used to study law, like most critical theory, it emerged as a lens through which one could understand and change politics, economics and society as a whole. Richard Delgado and Jean Stefancic’s book, Critical Race Theory: An Introduction, describes the movement as: “a collection of activists and scholars engaged in studying and transforming the relationship among race, racism, and power.”

Kimberlé Crenshaw, one of the founding members of the movement, says Critical Race Theory is more than just a collective group. She calls it: “a practice—a way of seeing how the fiction of race has been transformed into concrete racial inequities.”

It’s much more complex than that, which is why there’s an entire book about it.

Can you put it in layman’s terms?

Sure.

Former economics professor (he prefers the term “wypipologist”) Michael Harriot, who used Critical Race Theory to teach “Race as an Economic Construct,” explained it this way:

Race is just some shit white people made up.

Nearly all biologists, geneticists and social scientists agree that there is no biological, genetic or scientific foundation for race. But, just because we recognize the lack of a scientific basis for race doesn’t mean that it is not real. Most societies are organized around agreed-upon principles and values that smart people call “social constructs.” It’s why Queen Elizabeth gets to live in a castle and why gold is more valuable than iron pyrite. Constitutions, laws, political parties, and even the value of currency are all real and they’re shit people made up.

To effectively understand anything we have to understand its history and what necessitated its existence. Becoming a lawyer requires learning about legal theory and “Constitutional Law.” A complete understanding of economics include the laws of supply and demand, why certain metals are considered “precious,” or why paper money has value. But we can’t do that without critically interrogating who made these constructs and who benefitted from them.

One can’t understand the political, economic and social structure of America without understanding the Constitution. And it is impossible to understand the Constitution without acknowledging that it was devised by 39 white men, 25 of whom were slave owners. Therefore, any reasonable understanding of America begins with the critical examination of the impact of race and slavery on the political, economic and social structure of this country.

That’s what Critical Race Theory does.

How does CRT do that?

It begins with the acknowledgment that the American society’s foundational structure serves the needs of the dominant society. Because this structure benefits the members of the dominant society, they are resistant to eradicating or changing it, and this resistance makes this structural inequality.

Critical Race Theory also insists that a neutral, “color-blind” policy is not the way to eliminate America’s racial caste system. And, unlike many other social theories, CRT is an activist movement, which means it doesn’t just seek to understand racial hierarchies, it also seeks to eliminate them.

How would CRT eliminate that? By blaming white people?

This is the crazy part. It’s not about blaming anyone.

Instead of the idiotic concept of colorblindness, CRT says that a comprehensive understanding of any aspect of American society requires an appreciation of the complex and intricate consequences of systemic inequality. And, according to CRT, this approach should inform policy decisions, legislation and every other element in society.

Take something as simple as college admission, for instance. People who “don’t see color” insist that we should only use neutral, merit-based metrics such as SAT scores and grades. However, Critical Race Theory acknowledges that SAT scores are influenced by socioeconomic status, access to resources and school quality. It suggests that colleges can’t accurately judge a student’s ability to succeed unless they consider the effects of the racial wealth gap, redlining, and race-based school inequality. Without this kind of holistic approach, admissions assessments will always favor white people.

CRT doesn’t just say this is racist, it explains why these kinds of race-neutral assessments are bad at assessing things.

What’s wrong with that?

Remember all that stuff I said the “material needs of the dominant society?” Well, “dominant society” means “white people.” And when I talked about “racial hierarchies,” that meant “racism.” So, according to Critical Race Theory, not only is racism an ordinary social construct that benefits white people, but it is so ordinary that white people can easily pretend it doesn’t exist. Furthermore, white people who refuse to acknowledge and dismantle this unremarkable, racist status quo are complicit in racism because, again, they are the beneficiaries of racism.

But, because white people believe racism means screaming the n-word or burning crosses on lawns, the idea that someone can be racist by doing absolutely nothing is very triggering. Let’s use our previous example of the college admissions system.

White people’s kids are more likely to get into college using a racist admissions system. But the system has been around so long that it has become ordinary. So ordinary, in fact, that we actually think SAT scores mean shit. And white people uphold the racist college admissions system—not because they don’t want Black kids to go to college—because they don’t want to change admission policies that benefit white kids.

Is that why they hate Critical Race Theory?

Nah. They don’t know what it is.

Whenever words “white people” or “racism” are even whispered, Caucasian Americans lose their ability to hear anything else. If America is indeed the greatest country in the world, then any criticism of their beloved nation is considered a personal attack—especially if the criticism comes from someone who is not white.

They are fine with moving toward a “more perfect union” or the charge to “make America great again.” But an entire field of Black scholarship based on the idea that their sweet land of liberty is inherently racist is too much for them to handle.

However, if someone is complicit in upholding a racist policy—for whatever reason—then they are complicit in racism. And if an entire country’s resistance to change—for whatever reason —creates more racism, then “racist” is the only way to accurately describe that society.

If they don’t know what it is, then how can they criticize it?

Have you met white people?

When has not knowing stuff ever stopped them from criticizing anything? They still think Colin Kaepernick was protesting the anthem, the military and the flag. They believe Black Lives Matter means white lives don’t. There aren’t any relevant criticisms other than they don’t like the word “racism” and “white people” anywhere near each other.

People like Ron DeSantis and Tom Cotton call it “cultural Marxism,” which is a historical dog whistle thrown at the civil rights movement, the Black Power movement and even the anti-lynching movement after World War I. They also criticize CRT’s basic use of personal narratives, insisting that a real academic analysis can’t be based on individually subjective stories.

Why wouldn’t that be a valid criticism?

Well, aren’t most social constructs centered in narrative structures? In law school, they refer to these individual stories as “legal precedent.” In psychology, examining a personal story is called “psychoanalysis.” In history, they call it...well, history. Narratives are the basis for every religious, political or social institution.

I wish there was a better example of an institution or document built around a singular narrative. It would change the entire constitution of this argument—but sadly, I can’t do it.

Jesus Christ, I wish I could think of one! That would be biblical!

Why do they say Critical Race Theory is not what Martin Luther King Jr. would have wanted?

You mean the Martin Luther King Jr. who conservatives also called divisive, race-baiting, anti-American and Marxist? The one whose work CRT is partially built upon? The King whose words the founders of Critical Race Theory warned would be “co-opted by rampant, in-your-face conservatism?” The MLK whose “content of their character” white people love to quote?

Martin Luther King Jr. literally encapsulated CRT by saying:

In their relations with Negroes, white people discovered that they had rejected the very center of their own ethical professions. They could not face the triumph of their lesser instincts and simultaneously have peace within. And so, to gain it, they rationalized—insisting that the unfortunate Negro, being less than human, deserved and even enjoyed second class status.

They argued that his inferior social, economic and political position was good for him. He was incapable of advancing beyond a fixed position and would therefore be happier if encouraged not to attempt the impossible. He is subjugated by a superior people with an advanced way of life. The “master race” will be able to civilize him to a limited degree, if only he will be true to his inferior nature and stay in his place.

White men soon came to forget that the Southern social culture and all its institutions had been organized to perpetuate this rationalization. They observed a caste system and quickly were conditioned to believe that its social results, which they had created, actually reflected the Negro’s innate and true nature.

That guy?

I have no idea.

Will white people ever accept Critical Race Theory?

Yes, one day I hope that Critical Race Theory will be totally disproven.

Wait...why?

Well, history cannot be erased. Truth can never become fiction. But there is a way for white people to disprove this notion.

Derrick Bell, who is considered to be the father of Critical Race Theory, notes that the people who benefit from racism have little incentive to eradicate it. Or, as Martin Luther King Jr. said: “We must also realize that privileged groups never give up their privileges voluntarily.”

So, if white people stopped being racist, then the whole thing falls apart!

From your lips to God’s ears.

Entertainment Spotlight: Will Vought, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel

Actor, comedian, and writer Will Vought stars in the most recent season of the critically acclaimed dramedy series, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. Additional television credits include The Good Wife, The Good Fight, both Lipstick Jungle and Love Bites, Bones, and Wilfred. Will is also an accomplished comedian, having toured the country opening for Wayne Brady. He got his start in the entertainment industry by contributing to Scott Shannon’s #1 morning show on 95.5 WPLJ, offering David Letterman updates and recaps, which opened the door for him to work for Late Night with Conan O’Brien. Following his work with Conan, Will was offered a position in the West Wing of the White House, working for former President Bill Clinton, where he still continued his radio work on the weekends as the youngest morning show host in the country at just 22 years old. Will went on to serve as head writer for Wayne Brady during his time hosting the The Late Late Show prior to James Corden in 2014 on CBS, and he continues to collaborate with renowned actor and comedian Paul Reiser, including shopping a television pilot they wrote together with Julie Bergman. We got the chance to ask him some questions. Check it out:

Do you have a favorite character arc from season 3 of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel?

For Season 3, I’m finding myself really interested in Susie and her journey. I don’t want to spoil it for those getting ready to start the new season or binge the series; however, in the first two seasons, Susie’s been hustling and primarily being of service to Midge while her personal life hangs on by a thread. In season 3, there are so many more layers introduced and opportunities that will ripple into not only her clout as a comedy manager but also her personal life. Also, I’m really invested in Lenny Bruce. Having read so much about him to see his plight on screen told through Amy’s lens is incredible. I don’t know anyone in comedy that doesn’t appreciate what Lenny Bruce did for comedians. The end of the Season 3 premiere is absolutely priceless seen thought the eyes of Tony Shalhoub’s Emmy Award-winning performance as Abe Weissman - Midge’s father.

If everything that you did was narrated, whose voice would you want narrating your life?

HA! That is a great question, and I’ve had to think about it. At first, I thought of the late great voice-over artist Don LaFontaine who moviegoers would remember as the “In A World…” guy who made millions voicing almost every movie trailer ever! BUT…truth be told I think that I would love Seinfeld's voice and lens, and I think it would make my day to day activities far more entertaining to listen to, especially when on the phone with my therapist.  

Can you tell us about a time you bombed (on stage or in an audition)?

Well…the thing that pops to mind was an audition for NBC’s series called Lipstick Jungle. At the time, I was living on Long Island and decided to make the mistake of driving into Manhattan for the audition. Traffic was abhorrent, and you would think that there were mass casualties on the Long Island Expressway resulting in me being almost an hour and forty-five minutes late for the audition. The director of that episode was the one and only Timothy Busfield, whom I loved on Arron Sorkin’s The West Wing. Tim played reporter Danny Concannon - Senior White House Correspondent.

I had no idea that Timothy was going to be at the audition and was mortified when I showed up and saw him in the room because I was so late. It’s not unheard of to not be seen at all if you are late, let alone hours late. I read for the part and left. Tim was gracious. A month later, I got a call saying that I didn’t book that role; however, they were writing me another role and wanted to hire me for it. While on set shooting, Tim told me that when they asked him if he had any ideas for the part and he said, “That guy who came in 2 hours late. He was great. Hire him.” So I thought I bombed — but it worked out in the end.

The USO Tour scene from The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel broke the record for the most number of background actors used in a scene for tv in the state of New York (850). What was it like being a part of such a huge production?

I’ve never worked on Star Wars, but that’s what I was thinking of when we were filming that. It was by far the largest set I’ve ever been on, and yes there were almost 1000 background actors there for almost an entire week, who made up the audience of the USO show that you see in the season 3 premiere. When I met with Amy and Dan for the final audition for the role of Major Buck Brilstein, it was at Steiner Studios in Brooklyn in a small room that’s not much larger than a small studio apartment in Manhattan. It was the three of us and Emmy award-winning casting director Cindy Tolan. We did all the material from the episode, and to juxtapose that to being in an actual hanger with 1000 extras essentially filming a USO show that’s scripted — it was a historic moment in television that wasn’t lost on me.  

What was the audition experience like for your role on The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel?  

I kind of talk about that above. I had a great experience. As with anything, you have to go in a number of times, and then the final callback is with Amy and Dan Sherman Palladino. You are 2 feet away from her, there is a camera, and Cindy Tolan, the casting director, and you create the world and do the scenes — WORD PERFECT! That is a huge thing, and something I was told going in. Be word perfect every time. Their words are like notes on a page. Each one carefully picked and placed, and my job is to take them off the page and bring them to life with a sensibility of 1959 and a guy that’s a major in the army who always wanted to be a comedian but never really got the chance. So, my character is literally living his dream in this episode. Beyond that, you bring your A-game, nail it, and it’s up to Amy and Dan. It happened to go my way, and as I told Amy, I was grateful to get the invitation to play in her world. She wrote and directed this episode, so it was extra special.

Is there a specific role or moment that you feel has defined your career up to this point?

We’ll — this is pretty significant re: working with the Palladino’s.  I thought that The Good Wife was a big deal at the time — as I was part of Bob and Michelle King’s storyline that revealed Josh Charles’ character was murdered.  

It seems that I’m only allowed to act opposite actresses that have won 2 Emmy’s and 2 Golden Globes for Best Actress. LOL.  It’s truly a hard question to answer as each project is different, and as an actor, you hope that one job will open a door or opportunity to another.  That’s what I’ve found, at least over the past few years, so it’s certainly a slow burn.

Years ago, I was the low man on the totem pole at NBC’s Late Night with Conan O’Brien. I was an intern in the writing department under John Groff and often got the chance to appear in sketches on the show. This was an invaluable experience. There was an afternoon where I asked Conan (as I was cleaning his office) if he knew this was what he was going to do from the beginning. I’ll never forget what he said. He told me that, “In his wildest dreams he never thought he would be hosting a late night show.” He described show business as being on a highway. He was a writer in college, wanted to be a writer and set off on the highway with the goal of writing in mind. Along the trip, there were exits: Mad Magazine, The Simpsons, SNL. After each exit, he gets back on the journey. If you want to be a teacher or doctor or lawyer, you know exactly what to do. Go to X school for X years, and then they declare you as such. Boom. You’re it. Hollywood is not like that. Everyone’s path is so different, and how we get to where we are is almost inconsequential when compared to the culmination of the journey. I’ve been blessed to do a lot of different things so far and work with incredible talent that truly moves the needle in this business, and I hope for more opportunities.

What’s your favorite bit or joke from one of your stand-up sets?

I have a new bit I’m working on that’s fueled by my natural anger toward this situation.

I hate paper straws.

If this makes me a horrible person, so be it. If “they” think I don’t care about the EARTH or ENVIRONMENT and support the extinction of humanity because of this — so be it.

Paper straws? Really? Who did this make sense to? Who thought it was a good idea to combine PAPER and WATER?

I’m sure it seemed like a good idea at the time — but it doesn’t work. Three sips into my iced coffee and the thing has disintegrated, and I’m now drinking iced coffee and paper!

If you think paper straws are a good idea, let me ask you one question. Would you like to use a paper condom?

In the future, you’ll be standing in the rain telling your friend you can’t understand why she’s pregnant and soaking wet from holding the paper umbrella.

I will say that if we do switch to paper condoms …. I don’t know about the environment, but we will absolutely ensure the survival of humanity.

Lighting round! Describe each of the following in one word: Who you are, what you value the most, and what you’d be if you were a food item.  

I AM WILL VOUGHT.

I VALUE MOST: MY SON.

IF I WAS A FOOD ITEM, I’D BE A BEYOND BURGER!

What are you working on right now?

Right now, I’m working on sending out subliminal messages via Transcendental Meditation to Adam McKay for a coffee meeting that would result in being cast on the 3rd season of Succession on HBO.  I’d text him, but I don’t have his cell. Do you?

Thanks for taking the time, Will! Catch Season 3 of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel on Prime Video. 

Photography: Emily Assiran | Grooming Laila Hayani | Styling: Natalia Zemliakova

Worshiping at your altar

“He confesses how long he’s looked

for a place to worship

and, oh, you put him on his knees.”

PROFANE by Ashe Vernon

A Paladin and an artificer fall in love.

Or- how Langa learns that worship comes in more than one form.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30430242

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

One of his earliest memories is this:

He sits by his father’s feet. They are in their living room, in his childhood home back in Canada. There’s a fire crackling behind him, the warmth of the flames licking his back even from the distance. His mother’s steps could be heard in the kitchen, but he can barely focus on that, utterly entranced by Dad’s stories, by the hand softly combing his hair back. He feels safe, comfortable and probably the most at peace he’s ever been. 

“A lot of people are going to get hurt tomorrow. All we can do is stand in the way of that and say, 'Not them. Me. If you need to hurt someone, hurt me'”, Dad reads. Langa’s tired eyes look up, eyes tracing the golden letters on the spine of his father’s favorite book, the tale of  ‘How the Paladin Got His Scar’. “Because the alternative is to look at someone else, someone weaker and more vulnerable, and tell them that you want them to be hurt instead of you.”

He squirms a bit in place, and Dad waits, just like every time they reach this part. He’s heard this story hundreds of times, could probably recite it himself from memory alone, but this passage is one that never fails to make him feel off. Weird, uncomfortable. As if he’s failing in some way, because…

“I don’t get it”, he says, like clockwork. Dad’s stopped reading, a single finger keeping the page bookmarked, in preparation for Langa’s usual interruption. Back in the kitchen, his mother’s footsteps fade away, as if she, too, is waiting for her son to ask. “Why do I have to hurt in someone else’s place? I don’t like to be in pain...”

As always, Dad smiles. He’s never mad about Langa’s selfishness, but, again, a five year old can’t really be expected to understand self sacrifice like this, no matter his Class. He never stops patting Langa’s head on his lap.

“It’s not about our pain. It’s about others’ joy.”

There’s usually where it stops, his curiosity sated, and lets Dad go back to his reading and Mom to her cooking. But Langa remembers something else, a new question bubbling up from him. He was in that age, Mom would say, where children stop taking everything their parents say at face value.

“But I thought us paladins were supposed to only serve a God? Why should we care about other people?”

It sounds awfully mean, he knows, but his father only laughs.

“We are not Clerics, son. As much as divine beings love us, we’re not bound to them. That’s why we have our Vow, remember? We can choose. I wasn’t forced to serve the Snow Deities, I wanted to do it. And I never regretted it.”

Langa’s frustration only grows more.

“But I don’t want to do that! To… to give...me-self…”

“Myself”, he remembers Mom calling softly from the doorway, but never how or when she got there. Only his father’s patience as Langa tried again:

“I don’t want to give myself away like that.”

“That’s because you haven't found your Worship yet, Langa. You’ll know, when you do. Because taking your Vow…”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Moving to Okinawa feels strange, in more than one way. 

For starters, it's weird to adore the Snow Deities with no snow in sight. But, to be completely honest (as he tends to be), he hadn’t felt any real pull in his nightly adoration. Not ever since his father died.

(How could he offer sincere praise to the beings that sent dad to his death?)

Still, he kept up with it. As a Paladin with no Vow, he’s taken to adoring the Snow Deities the same way a chronic smoker would use an e-cig.  Not the same, not nearly as invested, but it scratches the itch he can feel building inside him (his divinity begging for release, for reverence, for him to fall to the ground in awe) just well enough that he doesn’t go insane. It’ll be different, once he’s worshipping for real, his mom tells him. He’s not overly enthusiastic about the idea.

Something else that’s different is the quests. Official ones are offered in schools or extracurricular centers, just like back home, but he can’t even begin to imagine himself fighting his way through forests instead of frozen mountaintops. And just what creatures would he even be fighting? Snow Wassets, Kamaitachis, Wendigos… They were all born from ice, and darkness, and cold. Not exactly your native Okinawan monster.

He sighs, head resting against the car window. Watching the trees fly past as mom drives them to their new place, he starts to feel the itch under his skin again. Moving so far away had helped, the deities’ reach weak against the warmth of this land, but still notable enough to demand attention. 

It’s annoying, painful at times, and the last thing he wants to do after losing his dad- but he closes his eyes, spite burning at his core like acid, and adores.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s laying on the floor- no sword in sight, vulnerable, helpless to this person approaching him at high speed, unrelenting- but the pain never comes.

Opening his eyes, he looks up. And time stops, just like it did every time Langa interrupted his father during story time for a question. The world itself holds its breath, waiting for him to catch up.

And he stares at this boy, suspended above him. He sees his red hair, contrast jarring against blue skies. Sees golden eyes, bright and open and full of a life that seems to be avoiding him.

His senses are telling him- he’s a human. There’s no divinity in him, no godliness.

But his heart beats hard, almost pushing his chest open, and he’s breathing the air this boy left behind when he jumped over him. And he feels a spark catching fire behind his eyes, travelling down to his stomach, and nesting there in a way that suggests ‘I’m in no rush to leave’.

And he thinks, briefly- no one ever told me that Fire Deities liked to skate in Okinawa.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He learns the boy’s Class before his name. He’s an artificer, and he’s called Reki.

He thinks it means something, that he introduces himself like that, but Langa isn’t sure what, because all he can hear is an echo of his voice and the afterglow of the smile he shoots his way.

Reki becomes too much, too fast. He shows Langa his favorite invention, a magic skateboard, and he himself feels instantly charmed by the simple genius he exudes. He’s helpless as he follows Reki to the shop he works on, where he finds himself employed as well before he can even catch his bearings. Something about his divinity being harnessed for potions, and protecting the store. He’s not hearing very faithfully, but it sounds good enough that he nods. Without his weekly quests to the mountains, there’s few other ways for him to earn his own money and help support his mother. Though he can’t deny he’ll miss the thrill of it...

Then Reki takes his hand again, and he solves that problem as well.

The S circuit, an illegal quest spot. A rocky mounting, with its surrounding forest littered with abandoned buildings, chock full of all sorts of creatures to hunt, or other adventurers to spar; not for the money, or the honor, but for fun.

Fun is a weird concept for Langa, these days, but he can’t deny the thrill he feels when he burrows Reki’s sword (it's not like the other boy can use it, with his hand hurt as it is) and forces the man that wanted to bring pain to his new friend to the ground. When he’s standing up, looking down at this Rouge, hearing Reki’s excited screams getting closer and closer until the boy is near enough to jump to Langa’s arms, he thinks… that if this is what Dad felt on his quests, it’s no wonder he gave up his life in one of them.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s never met an artificer before, and Reki has never encountered a Paladin either. It's an experience for both of them.

Reki seems determined to make Langa a new sword, one that adapts to the training he received back in Canada but that he can use here, in S. It’s a challenge for him, he says, and Langa doesn’t mind the long hours spent in Reki’s workshop, as the boy tries new materials, different welding techniques and a wide variety of spells, exchanging questions back and forth.

Learning about Reki feels a little like when Dad taught him how to fight, everything new, shiny, a little scary but at the same time so safe. He finds out that his friend still hasn’t decided on a specialty, and that choosing one is in a way a little like a Paladin taking a Vow, and at the same time, nothing at all. They focus on a single path, do their best to become masters of it, but once it's perfected, they are free to pursue a different one. He’s secretly enchanted by the idea- the freedom of it. Or maybe it’s just Reki that makes him feel like that.

“I thought you guys just… fought for good? You know, to save people, end wars, stuff like that?”

Langa lays back, weight resting on his arms as he looks up to the stars . They are outside for a change, as Reki is trying to cast a few attack spells on the sword (as in, writes runes and splashes potions over the blade, occasionally cutting himself on it; Langa longs to take it away from him before he loses a finger), and refuses to do so in the relative fragility of indoors. The night sky is very pretty, the company is good, and he feels too comfortable for someone sitting on the ground.

“That’s what’s told in schools and stories, but reality is different”, he answers, eyes dancing between the stars and Reki’s eyes (just as bright, just as pretty). “‘Good’ and ‘bad’ are very subjective terms. What’s alright in some cultures is a sin in others.”

“One man’s heaven is another man’s hell”, Reki murmurs, stopping his motions as he thinks Langa’s words through. 

Langa nods. “Paladins- we do have a connection to the Gods, in a way. So it’s very common for us to give our Vows to them. But, unlinke Clerics, we’re not irredeemably bound, so there’s more of a choice factor. A Paladin can give their Vow once in their life, and then has to commit to it, but that we can decide who or what to Vow to is our form of freedom.”

Reki looks back at Langa then, sword almost forgotten in his lap. They were sitting quite close, now that he thinks about it, barely enough space between them to fill with a whisper. His entire right side felt scalding hot, like when he was a child back home and sat a little too close to the fireplace.

That heat spreads to the rest of his body when Reki throws his head back and laughs.

“That’s the longest I’ve ever heard you talk, dude!”

Time resumes, the night moves on, Langa walks home. But the warmth never leaves his body.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Reki being an artificer doesn’t stop him from participating in quests and spars. He throws himself into them, headfirst, like he’s desperate to prove something to himself. He only ever seems to take it easy when he takes Langa with him; when he holds his hand as he walks him through the differences and similarities of adventures back home and here. Rattles out information about monsters jumping them in the woods, and statistics about the adventurers they stumble upon. He seems like a never ending fountain of information, and oh is Langa thirsty. 

He doesn't think he’ll ever get tired of hearing Reki speak. And even when he slowly becomes better at it, when the newness of the creatures crawling the forest stops scaring him and he feels comfortable enough to set loose and have fun, he still clutches Reki’s hand in his. And together, they brave whatever the fates throw their way.

It's more fun, that way.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He spends the night over at Reki’s place a lot in the following weeks. They both seemed full of excuses for him to stay, to fall asleep side by side, skin on skin. Reki’s hands, always twitching for his tools to tinker with, slowly stilling, peaceful, when Langa holds them between his.

He doesn’t realize until after many, many nights together like this- that, distracted as he was with his friend, he’d totally forgotten to praise and adore. The itch of murmuring in awe about the Deities has all but vanished from him, and its- it's a freedom he had never known before.

(Reki’s hands are smaller than his, so even when he holds them, folded and sweet, the tips of his fingers meet, like a small roof over Reki’s knuckles.

It looks like he’s praying, and he wonders if that’s why the Snow Deities had left him alone. If it’s because they see these sleeping boys, see the peace in the young Paladin’s resting face, and think- ‘this one is already lost in adoration’.)

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

This must be what a role reversal feels like, he thinks. Paladins are supposed to be this- this paragon of goodness, righteousness. 

But Reki is the one that, after Langa had defeated the young Sorcerer in combat, offers a hand and a smile. Even when the kid has thrown nothing but insults his way, Reki still stands straight and proud in front of him when a new enemy appears. Challenges this newcomer to a spar, to protect someone he should not be giving a fuck about.

And when the Warlock crushes him to the ground, his artifacts destroyed and blood painting the arena, he still looks Langa’s way with an apology in his eyes. 

Langa remembers when he was younger, when he wondered how someone would choose pain to protect others from it. He still can’t understand the desire to do so for a complete stranger, but for Reki-

He would brave way worse dangers than an obsessed Warlock for Reki.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s drowning- 

He’s drowning for days on end. The flame eating at his flesh from the inside has been burning bright ever since his interrupted combat with Adam, the press of his steel armor- Reki’s armor- against his chest worsening the pain. It fills his lungs, his core- doesn’t let him breath. He didn’t know that it was possible to suffocate in fire.

-but it's not until Reki walks away from him under the pouring rain, that he understands that the pain of drowning is nothing compared to the emptiness of death. That the itch to fight Adam pales in comparison to the all-encompassing desperation of his yearning for Reki.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He holds Reki’s hands under the stars again, and painful fire becomes soft warmth. It takes him back to his childhood, to sitting by his dad’s feet, head on his lap, hearth at his back, mom moving around in the kitchen.

He’s on his knees in front of Reki, but it’s the other boy the one who whispers words of reverence. He’s looking down at Langa, washed in moonlight and surrounded by divinity, and there’s defeat and victory in his face all at once.

He looks like he’s fallen, but he’s happy about it.

Langa is-

“I’ve decided about my specialization”, Reki confesses. His eyes don’t wander, his hands aren’t twitching. He looks the most secure in himself Langa has ever seen him. It fills his chest with a warm sort of pride. “I’ll become a Battle Smith. They are experts at defending others and repairing both materiel and personnel”, he continues, one hand dislodging itself from within the protective cocoon of Langa’s hold to trace the contours of his face. Langa feels it when he finds the thin scar in his cheek, from his latest spar in S. His fingertips tremble a bit as they touch it.

“Why?” he asks, because he knows Reki longs, too, for the thrill of a quest, for the joy of surviving the dangers thrown his way.

“I can always make my own weapons, there’s no need for me to make a specialty out of it”, he shrugs, as if reading Langa’s mind, “so I’m good to participate in quests myself. But if you’re gonna insist on throwing yourself headfirst into unprecedented danger, the least I can do is make sure you’ll be damn well protected against everything you can’t kill on sight.”

All air leaves Langa’s lungs, but at the same time, it’s like he’s never really breathed before this exact moment. He imagines being a worshipped Deity can’t feel all that different.

And he remembers his Dad again, his words when he first told him about Vows. 

‘Taking your Vow isn't subjecting yourself to a leash; it's not about servitude. To Worship is to feel the highest you've ever been, even while down on your knees’

Kneeling before Reki, holding one of his hands between his, feeling the other one caressing his cheek, looking up at his face outlined by the moon... it’s like he has stars at his fingertips and fire in his veins. He’s flying with it, touching the sky but standing straight and firm as well.

He’s never felt this way. He doesn’t want it to ever stop.

So he bends his head down over Reki’s hand, eyes closing in reverence and lips touching rough, calloused skin. And in the silence of the night, the words of his Vow sound as loud as if he’d shouted them.

Reki’s hand is in his hair now, like benediction, and he thinks- If falling is this sweet, it’s no wonder so many angels changed their wings for horns, their clouds for fire. 

It's just divine luck that he’s now sworn to someone who can give him both.

Arashi Astrology: Their Emotional World (Moon Placements)

Ohno Satoshi: Cancer Moon in the 7th House

The Moon Goddess in the Mirror

Cancer, ruled by the moon, is the sign of feminine strength and leadership. The Divine Goddess leads with love and gentleness, a passive and indirect form of leadership but no less effective or firm. That is why Cancer is symbolized by the Crab, which moves from side to side to maneuver around the perilous crashing waves, always seeking security and comfort in their everchanging world. Those with a Cancer moon have a strong intuition and feel deeply, though they can often hide it behind their protective shell.

Placed in the 7th house, the house of relationships, of mirrors, the Cancer Moon comes across in a reflective sort of fashion. Those with a moon in the 7th often do not appear to be sensitive or emotional people, especially when alone. However, interacting with other people on a one-on-one basis brings out their emotional side, as if they can process and express their emotions by finding them reflected in other people. The normally calm Ohno when around others can unexpectedly burst into little temper tantrums and playful displays and even tears.

Cancer moons are looking for a home, but more the love and comfort associated with it rather than the physical place, and Ohno finds that in the relationships he has with people. He is attracted to those who are kind and soothing to be around. At the same time, he himself is seen as kind and soothing to be around, which attracts people towards him. He is the person who you feel comfortable voicing your worries to, even if you’re not sure he’s listening. It’s an aura that he releases unconsciously, and it causes people to mother him, to look after him and check if he’s doing ok.

Ultimately, as much of a hermit (crab) he seems at times, the key to Ohno’s emotional fulfillment is people. Like the Goddess he cares for people passively and indirectly, but still, warmly, receiving their love as he softly radiates with his own.

Sakurai Sho: Capricorn Moon in the 2nd House 

The Third Little Pig with his House of Bricks

To a Capricorn Moon, a solid foundation is no joke. Capricorn is symbolized by a goat climbing the mountain one step at a time and like that goat, the Capricorn Moon holds not only ambition, but a realistic ambition. That does not mean that they do not aim high, but it does mean that if they do aim high, they’ll come up with a 200-page plan to carry it through. To a Capricorn moon, work and achievement is key to emotional fulfillment.

That becomes even more true when that Capricorn moon is placed in the 2nd house, the house of material and immaterial possessions. Their financial security and emotional satisfaction are intrinsically tied, and they’re more likely to surround themselves with things of high value once they can afford them. That may sound materialistic, but it’s more that they are proud of how far they’ve come and their increased ability to provide not only for themselves but also for others (Capricorn moons love to give gifts to people and Sakurai definitely embodies that trait).

A common misconception is that Capricorn moons are dour, repressed, and boring, which cannot be further from the truth. Capricorn Moons can display a wicked sense of humor and mischief due to their ability to read a room, it’s just that they have a strong awareness of their public image, and thus tend to keep their emotions under control and well-managed. If a Capricorn moon is in good emotional health, they are incredibly adept at using their humor as a public and social tool. However, it should be remembered that they are more sensitive than they seem and can be too hard on themselves. The moon is the most changeable and fluctuating out of all the planets, and thus having the moon in the 2nd signals fluctuations in their finances or their self-esteem. It’s important for Capricorn moons to have a safe space where they can relax and feel unjudged and it seems that for Sakurai, Arashi is that space for him.

Aiba Masaki: Aries Moon in the 11th House

Mary’s Little Lamb who Loved Her So

Bless Aries Moons for their joy in life! As the first sign, Aries represents the beginning, and all the sunny optimism of it, and thus those with an Aries moon are childlike in the way they express their emotions: instinctive, naïve, and so very honest. However, they’re not just sunshine and rainbows. Ruled by Mars, Aries moons are action-oriented, impulsive, and defensive. They can easily become passionate and fired up about something, inspiring others with their energy. But, if they become impatient and let their attention wander, they can just as easily lose interest and hop onto something else. A significant part of this placement’s development is learning how to sit still and be patient. Yet, the Aries impulsivity and straightforward honesty is also its charm and its strength, helping them be trailblazers and leaders in their own right.

In the 11th House, the house of friends, communities, and society, an Aries moon devotes its energy to those groups wholeheartedly. They have a strong social conscience and wish to be of help to people, and this can be seen in Aiba when he tries to cheer up the other members or does his work without complaining.  For this placement, feeling belonging in a group and serving their community in some fashion is key to their emotional fulfillment. Once they have found their place, they light up the world, shining others with their warmth and joy. A moon in 11th can point towards great renown and recognition by others in society; those with this placement have the ability to touch people’s hearts from the other side of the globe. They have a social charm that endears others to them, however that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re social butterflies, as the scattered energy of an Aries moon along with the detached lens of the 11th house leads to these people having many acquaintances but a select number of friends. Which is just as well, as they are so loyal and devoted that there’s the danger of burn-out if they expanded their friend group too much.

Ninomiya Kazunari: Virgo Moon in the 12th House

Rumpelstiltskin with his Hidden Name

As the sign of service, Virgo is unassuming and humble, content to living a simple life, so long as they have found a place where they feel needed and useful. This is key for Virgo Moons, for without such a place their nervous energy has no outlet. They have a keen eye for detail that constantly finds things to improve and work on even if they are not consciously looking, and so if they don’t have a certain area to themselves to straighten up, they can become quite cranky and sullen. When in good emotional health however, these individuals are reliable friends who are good to turn to for advice. Ultimately Virgo Moons are practical; they know their limits, as well as the value of diligent practice and hard work.

When the Moon is placed in the 12th House, the House of the Social Unconscious, a veil is placed over the individual’s emotions. They feel far away and subdued. As a result, those with a 12th House moon have difficulty comprehending their own emotions and may need frequent periods of solitude to re-settle into themselves, especially since they can become absorbed with other people’s emotions when socializing. The distance of their own feelings can make a 12th House Moon believe they’re indifferent to everything—like Nino did when he came onto the show, “Honma Dekka!?”, to consult about his problem of “not caring about anything except games”, saying that he had little interest in himself and had no preferences when it came to the food he eats and the clothes he wears.  

In reality, Ninomiya does care. Maybe not about concrete day-to-day things (though it should be noted that he does like having a schedule and some consistency, that’s the Virgo showing), but emotions do bubble up unexpectedly, and nowhere is that clearer than when he’s talking about Arashi. His words unknowingly reveal the depth of his observations and the amount of thought he’s put into supporting the group and the other members. Virgo is the sign of service and the 12th House is the house of sacrifice; combine those together and you have someone who, at their core, is quite selfless.

Matsumoto Jun: Taurus Moon in the 11th House 

The Deity of the Mountain with all its Natural Riches

Taurus is the sign of the physical, the tangible, the five senses. Matsumoto, with his Taurus Moon, is ever so aware of the clothes he wears, the food he eats, the music he hears, and the temperature of his bedroom, and making sure that these are all to his liking is paramount. Taurus Moons have a sense for aesthetic, especially for earthy sensuality, and little by little, he sculpts the world around him into the life he wants to live. Whatever he has in mind he will succeed in, for there are few more persevering than a Taurus Moon.

Of course, persevering can be just a nice way of saying stubborn. It’s an astrology cliché, but not a false one. But what people often misunderstand about the Taurus stubbornness is the romantic sentimentality behind it, the passive femininity, because Taurus is ruled by Venus. They are protective and nurturing of those they care about, concentrating their energy towards growth, not destruction. In an unhealthy Taurus, this can manifest into possessiveness, stagnation, and delusion, but a healthy Taurus is at ease with themselves and the natural flow of life.

Having the moon in the 11th house means that Matsumoto, like Aiba, has a strong social conscious; his emotions are most visible when it comes to his community, his friends and colleagues. It is to them his persevering and loyal heart goes to; the combination of Taurus and the 11th House tends to make people the “mom friend”, the one who checks up on you from time to time, asks if you’ve recently ate, straightens your clothes before you go onstage. In the case of Matsumoto, this side of him is also visible when planning Arashi’s projects, he wants to do right by the fans, the staff, and of course the other members, and so he sits through long meeting after long meeting, trying to make sure that every member shines in their own way, that every fan has the best time they can possibly have. His efforts do not go unnoticed and people respond to that loyalty and care with admiration; it is what helped him first grab the country’s attention as Domyouji and it is ultimately what makes him MJ of Arashi.

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Codebreaker- Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Girl in the Chair

Summary: Zero isn’t the absence of value, in fact, Zero is perhaps one of the most valuable people among the ghosts. Being coined their ‘guy in the chair’ meant that Zero was a ghost among ghosts and is only called from her spot in the shadows when she and Four are the only people who haven’t been caught on camera by a large criminal organization.  

A/N: What’s up cuties! AC here again, back at it with a brand new series! I’m not going to lie, not a lot happens in this chapter it is really just to establish sort of a background on the characters, get the plot rolling, and establish some tension between these two. I am trying to make this one a slow burn fic with a lot of sexual tension and pinning, maybe there will be smut, maybe there wont. It all depends what the people want! The taglist is open so please shoot me an ask if you would like to be added!

Pairing: Four x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Violence, illegal activity, guns, kind of kidnapping, language, tension is building, very politically charged content, not proof read

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Asks

Tag list is located at the bottom, please send an ASK if you would like to be tagged or if you would just like to chat about the fic/life in general and let me know if the tags do not work.

Beads of sweat trickled down the back of your neck while you sat, kneeling in front of the mess of wires and metal parts. It was so god damn hot in this stupid shed. They really couldn’t have housed you somewhere else?

Of course not, you were a grunt worker, the low man on the totem pole, a peon compared to everyone else in the organization. That was why you were stuffed in this hot dusty shed in the back of someone’s house. Mike probably didn’t even know you name, he only cared that you could make his products work.

You were a 23-year-old engineering PhD student studying materials. Your dream was to create more ecofriendly and cheap filters for water so that it could be easily accessible to those in impoverished areas of the world. Water is a basic necessity, not a right. So how the fuck did you wind up here, making bombs for what may or may not be an ecoterrorism group and hacking into large corporate databases on their behalf?

Well, you hang around the wrong crowd long enough, you’ll eventually find your way stuffed in some guy named Mike’s shed who believes Lions should be fed tofu.

You really didn’t mind it, aside from a few wacky ideologies Mike held, he and his troupe were relatively nice and stood for what you stood for: clean water, properly paid migrant workers, and sustainable living.

You wiped the sweat off your forehead with the back of your greasy and dirty hand as you tinkered away, piecing together a small pipe bomb. It was for your next target, a large family corporation that had a penchant for exploiting migrant workers by promising benefits and paths to citizenship in exchange for low, nearly inhuman pay. What they stood for make you feel sick, so you honestly didn’t feel bad knowing that this pipe bomb was going to be used to blow one of their corporate office entrances to bits in the middle of the night when no one was there.

It would serve as a warning.

After you finally finished connecting the last few bits together you carefully wiped it down and placed it inside the packaged box, then disposed of your gloves and changed your clothes, making sure to put your old ones in the burn pile. It seemed a bit excessive, but the last thing you wanted was to have anything linked back to you with bomb residue on it.

You sat in front of the computer, back slightly hunched over the keyboard while the lighting from the screen illuminated your face “Are you sure you don’t want the light on?” Mike said turning towards you

You let out a deep and irritated sigh, “What are you, a fucking idiot?” You a snapped as your eyes continued to stare at the security footage that rolled on the screen, “We’re in a van about to set off a bomb do you think turning on a light, so I don’t damage my eyesight is more important than getting caught?” Mike shrugged, you had a point.

You checked the clock 12:30am. It was time.

You grabbed the burner phone and flipped it open, dialing the number that would set off the timer. You gaze caught a small flicker of movement in the corner, a shadow that shouldn’t have been there. Your heart jumped when you saw a security guard walking to the front door, “Fuck,” You said, “Fuck, someone is in there, I have to disarm it!” You felt panic flooding through your veins and your heart rate began to increase.

“[Y/N], there isn’t enough time,” Mike snapped, his voice causing you to jump, “You won’t make it and you know it.” He pointed out, “It’s fine, what’s one less corporate pawn.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you watched the seconds roll past on the security footage, knowing there were only minutes until it detonated, you could make it couldn’t you? You burst out the back of the van, gripping your laptop tightly to your chest and began to run as fast as you could. You tripped over your feet, stumbling in the grass and picked yourself right back up. You flipped open the burner, 1 minute 37 seconds. You could see the building coming into view and could feel your lungs burning, you honestly couldn’t remember the last time you had run that hard and that fast.

The closer you got to the building, the closer the bomb got to detonation. You clenched your jaw, ignoring the burning in your thighs and pressed on.

Your efforts were useless, you realized that when you woke up on the ground covered in rubble with your ears ringing. You coughed, your lungs felt chalky and your eyes burned from the layer of soot that had built up in them. When your vision finally cleared you could see grey and black dust settling and that the majority of the corporate office had been destroyed.

Fucking hell, your pipe bomb shouldn’t have been that strong. It should have just been enough to collapse the front entrance. You struggled to get up, the pain in your arms was excruciating and the dizziness in your head made it seem almost impossible to stand. You cried out in pain when you finally pushed yourself up, I need to get out of here, you thought. You still had that stupid burner phone on you.

“Excuse me, Ma’am,” You turned to see an EMT coming towards you, his voice hammered against your ringing ears and his figure looked fuzzy, you really needed to get the fuck out of here.

“I’m fine, I don’t need help.” You barely recognized your voice from how hoarse it was.

“Ma’am, you’re bleeding, you need to sit down.” The EMT grabbed your shoulders and you shrugged them off, once again yelling in pain.

“Get off me.” You said stumbling as you thrashed against them.

It wasn’t until you felt the cold barrel of a gun nipping at your temple that you realized this wasn’t an ordinary EMT, “You’re going to come with me, got it? Or do you want the feds finding your ass.” His voice was harsh and sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded your head, wincing at how tightly he was squeezing you before he threw you in the back of the ambulance. He drove for what seemed like ages only because you were fading in and out of consciousness. When he finally stopped, he woke you up, slapping at the sides of your face. You harshly turned your head way “What the fuck?” You croaked once more and tried to twist away only to find that you were hand cuffed to a gurney.

“How did you hack into the security system?” He was obviously done with formalities.

“You can’t prove anything.” You hissed.

“Where did you get the supplies, and how have you and your organization been able to go under the radar with these attacks for so long?”

“Bet you’re a fucking fed,” You spat, you couldn’t stand the cesspool that was more commonly known as the American government.

The guy smiled at you, flashing a perfectly aligned smile, “I’m not a cop. I just want to know how you’re so good at navigating the deep web and creating explosives.” He seemed genuinely interested, and it didn’t seem like you denying things was going to get yourself unhandcuffed anytime soon.

You let out a shaky sigh and shrugged, “I don’t know, I’m an engineering student I just wanted to buy Adderall to help me study for finals, so I bought it off the deep web, then Mike invited me to join his wanna be ELF group and I joined.” You answered honestly.

“Wanna be ELF group?” He his eyebrows arched with amusement, “You realize they have been using your explosives all over the country, did you really think that their attacks were only focused in this area?” You really hadn’t been paying attention to how many devices you would make or what Mike wanted you to order from the deep web, you would just do it with no questions asked, “There were six bombs planted in that building, you realize that don’t you?” You furrowed your brows with confusion, there was only supposed to be one at the entrance and what did he mean by all over the country?

You shrugged and let out a long sigh, you had really dug yourself into a deep hole “I don’t ask questions, I just make and order whatever he gives me on the list.”

“Why?” His question caught you off guard and he repeated himself, this time leaning in closer.

“Jesus, what are you going to do, kiss me?” You said turning your face away, “Give me some space, you smell like fucking garlic.” After he backed up you continued “I think that the American government is a cesspool on the face of society and they just stands by while people suffer. I’m sick of it.” you answered honestly.

“I’m Wade by the way.” He said finally introducing himself, “Don’t worry, I already know who you are.” He said brushing your response away, “Anyways, how would you like to join a group of people who are going over some real nasty people. I’m talking top of the line scum.” You arched your eyebrow with interest and urged him to continue, “This isn’t some small-time gig, I’m talking about taking down whole governments.”

“Do I get paid?” you quickly asked.

Wade couldn’t help but smirk, “No,” He laughed, “But don’t worry I’ll take care of your expenses.”

“What like some glorified sugar daddy?” You asked making a weird face at him.

Wade shrugged his shoulders “Something like that,” He sharply inhaled, remembering one important detail “Oh, right one more thing, if you’re going to join you have to go completely off the grid. You know like fake your death, no contact with your family, that sort of stuff.”

“No student loans?” Wade nodded his head, seeing interest sparkling in your eyes, “Fine with me, it looks like I died anyways with that fucking blast.”

After that meeting you were given the number zero.

Zero isn’t the absence of value, in fact you might have been one of the most valuable people on the team. The only problem was that the team didn’t know who you were. They didn’t know who ordered their supplies, or how One knew everything about everyone, or how their records were able to be so easily erased.

From what you saw they all seemed like nice enough people, but you preferred your ‘girl in the chair’ position and behind scenes work.

One even promised you that he would only call on you in a special occasion. Right now, seemed to be that special occasion considering he was ringing you up at 3 in the morning.

“Someone better be dying, One.” You said immediately upon answering your phone.

“No one is, not yet at least.” You could hear the stupid grin behind his voice, “I need you for a mission.”

You sat up in your bed, “Mission? No, I don’t do missions, I sit in the chair.” You said, panic arising in your voice.

One let out a sigh, “Well, you do now. Be at the base within the hour, we have a team meeting.”

So, you were thirty minutes late for good measure. There was no way you were going to be the first one to show up, it would have been hell having to sit there and explain the same story over and over again as new faces entered the room. So, you walked in the room, confidently late.

You might have been a little too confident because the sound of several guns being cocked and pointed in your direction as well as everyone being on guard caused you to freeze, “Easy, easy, guys. Christ you’re like a bunch of fucking animals.” One said quickly running in front of you with his arms up, “Put your guns down, and you” He said turning and pointing in your face, “You’re late. I told you an hour.”

You shrugged, “I didn’t want to be the first one in the room.” You said stuffing your hands in your sweatshirt pockets and walking around him, taking your seat on a stack of pallets.

One pinched his forehead and let out a deep sigh, “Well, now that everyone’s shown up you can go ahead and introduce yourself.” He said nudging your shoulder.

You gave an awkward wave “Hello, I’m Zero.” You introduced yourself and gave a short nod “Nice to meet you all.”

“Tell them what you do, it’s not fair knowing why everyone else was picked.” One sounded like a scolding mother

You sighed “What is this the first day of college?” you quickly retorted, causing a few of the team members to cover their mouths, hiding their laughter “I’m the codebreaker, the supply man, the explosives expert, the guy in the chair. Whatever you want to call me, just know I do the behind the scenes work.” You tried to not sound too prideful on your position.

“We have a supply man?” You recognized the thick British accent that came from Four.

“Where the hell do you think all your ammunition came from?” You asked him, “Did you all really think One did this all on his own?” their silence answered your question. You scoffed “Tch, One couldn’t navigate the deep web if he ever looked at it, probably would end up buying shit from some cop,” You spat on the ground when you mentioned law enforcement.

One rolled his eyes before continuing with the meeting, “So, as we know we’ll be needing to split up for the next few assignments which, is why I called in Zero to so kindly help us.” He paused for a moment to allow everyone to soak in the information, “Zero, you and Four are going to be sent to gather first hand intel on our target, Vincent Beck.” He cleared his throat “Two and Three were caught on camera sneaking around and Seven, Five, and I have our own assignment.”

You furrowed your brows “I couldn’t erase their footage?” You asked, somewhat shocked at what you were hearing.

One let out another, long sigh, “No, you tried to get into their data base, and they put that virus on your computer, remember?”

You remembered now, that stupid virus that caused endless popups to show up, once one was closed two more would show up, “Right,” You mumbled, chewing on your bottom lip.

One tossed you and Four your files, “Read up on those and come up with a plan, at noon the plane takes off, but I want to debrief at 11.”

And with that you found yourself in Four’s trailer, sitting on his lumpy couch “I’ve never done this before.” You admitted, “I only know how to gather intel through the computer.”

Four’s knee bounced, you didn’t know if it was because he was anxious or because of the constant need to keep moving, “I haven’t either,” He tried to sound reassuring, “But I think it’ll be fine, One usually knows what he’s talking about.”

You pursed your lips and gave Four a skeptical look, “Does he though?” You weren’t very convinced.

The blonde-haired man shrugged, “Yeah, he’s kind of a goon sometimes but he usually figures it out.” It sounded like Four wasn’t very convinced either.

“Well, do you have a plan for this?” You asked leaning back against the uncomfortable and cheap couch.

Four frowned “Got nothin’, you?” You could already tell this was going to be a disaster.

You paged through the file, “Vincent Beck,” You hummed, tapping your finger on your chin in thought, “Well we can’t do a guns blazing approach, we both are better suited for sneaking around, plus the fighting is going to come later.” You mused aloud.

“We just have to talk to him and build some trust, right?” He asked, building off your thoughts.

You nodded your head, still intently reading the file, “This guy is a real sicko,” You said frowning, “Human trafficking? Who the fuck even does this shit?” the details you read caused your stomach to churn, “We have to get as much dirt on this asshole as possible, really gain his trust.”

Four cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably “What if… what if I posed as a potential client?” He swallowed thickly, you could tell that the details of Vincent Beck did not sit well with him either.

You stared at Four, a long hard gaze, “That could work, we can get a way in, gather information on his sales, inside people, so on and so forth.” You rubbed your face, exhausted from your early morning wakeup call, “What about me?” You asked.

Four gave you a cheeky grin, “You can be my assistant.”

You scoffed, dropping the file on the floor next to you “Your assistant? Absolutely not.” You said shaking your head, “I can be a business partner.” You answered, a small smile playing on your lips.

Four rolled his eyes, “You’re a computer nerd, you don’t know about business.” He retorted.

“Yeah, and you’re a thief, what do you know about running a business?”

Four clutched his chest feigning hurt feelings “I’m hurt, truly,” He responded, “Running around with a band of thieves has a lot of business tactics behind it, plus, I know how to talk with other criminals.”

You crossed your arms over your chest “Know how to talk to criminals,” You scoffed “I talk to criminals every day-”

“Yeah- through a computer” Four scoffed right back at you.

“Wow looks like you two are getting along well.” You turned to see that One had let himself into the trailer.

“We’re getting along just fine.” You snapped at One.

“That’s why the two of you are screaming at each other like that, right?” the sarcasm was dripping from his voice, “Anyways, what’s the plan?”

Four leaned forward, anxious to share the idea he came up with “Okay so hear me out, we just need to get close to this guy and gather intel, no actual fighting right? So,” He pauses for what you can only assume is for dramatic effect, “What if I pose as a client, and Zero is my assistant?”

You shook your head “No, I already said no to the assistant.” you quickly said.

One tapped his chin with his index finger, “What if you posed as his girlfriend?” he suddenly said, going along with the idea.

If you would have had a drink in your mouth, you would have spit it out right then and there “Girlfriend?” You almost couldn’t believe the words as they left your mouth, you shook your head “No, I’m not doing that either.”

One stared at you “Do you have a better idea?” He challenged, “And I don’t want to hear business partner, what are you going to buy for everyone in his company? No, Four is going to go in there and say he was referred by one of his previous clients and you are going to pose as his girlfriend.” You moved to argue him, but One put his hand up “Nope, no questions that’s it. Wheels are up in an hour.” He stood up and moved to leave the trailer but stopped “Do the two of you have anything other than sweatpants to wear? You’re going to want to pose as someone with money to make it appealing.”

You sheepishly averted your gaze and Four let out a soft ‘uhhh’ which proved that the two of you really had nothing other than athleisure in your closet, “Fucks sake,” One said shaking his head, “Buy yourself some real clothes when you land so you at least look the part. Zero, you can figure the money out, I know you’ve been sifting through my accounts.”

You scratched the back of your neck and let out a small laugh, have you been slowly taking a bit of money out from One’s bank account? Yeah. But did you care? Nah, he was literally a billionaire and constantly had money flowing in from stocks and other investments.

Your plane ride was short, but most of it was spent establishing your fake relationship with Four while Five slept and Seven and One piloted the plane, “What are our names going to be?” Four asked, “I was thinking could be Jason, or a Roger, or something like that.”

You let out a sigh, you could tell this was going to be a long mission, “Why can’t we just use our actual names, no one knows that we’re still alive and we can just make up last names.”

“Wouldn’t it be fun though-”

“No,” You sharply interjected, “I think that it would be a lot easier to remember our own names since we have a lot of other details we need to remember, like how long have we been together?”

Four ran a hand through his neatly coifed hair, “What about a year and a couple months, you know couples always track little stuff like that.”

“A year and three months?” You asked, he nodded, you checked that off your list and moved onto the next thing, “Okay what about how we met?”

“Childhood friends?” Four suggested.

You shook your head, “No, I’m too lazy to remember all that info, plus we are from two different countries.”

He nodded his head, “Right,” He said, feeling slightly stupid, “What about a business conference?”

You quirked your brow, this actually sounded like a good idea, “Okay, we can meet at a business conference, you know grabbed a few drinks then the rest is history kind of a deal?” a thought popped into your brain, “Oh!” You said, “We need to lay down some ground rules.”

“Rules?” Four asked quirking his eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, rules, you know so we don’t weird the other person out.” You tried to reason, Four’s mouth made an ‘o’ and he nodded, urging you to continue “Number one, no PDA.”

Four rolled his eyes, “We’re supposed to be fake dating, we have to at least make it convincing.”

You let out a sigh, “Fine, no graphic PDA then.” He nodded in agreement, “Number two, no parading around with other people, this has to be convincing” You paused and waited for Four to interject, when he didn’t you continued “And three, stick to the story, no changing it up or adding onto it without telling the other one.”

“That’s it? Only three rules?” Four questioned, you nodded your head “Sounds simple enough.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment before you glanced over at Four, feeling his eyes on you and caught the surprisingly charming smile he shot in your direction, “How about what I do for work? Can I say I’m inheriting my father’s business?”

You shrugged your head “Yeah, sure, just make sure it’s something you can actually talk about. Rich assholes love talking about what made them rich.”

“Yeah, any opportunity One has to brag, he leaps at it.” Four said laughing, you couldn’t help but join in.

The plane landed and after a short drive you found yourself in LA on a ritzy road with expensive shops. You felt out of place in your stained sweatshirt and beat up shoes, but who was going to stop you from entering with a platinum credit card?

After what seemed like hours’ worth of pointless shopping you and Four finally had a sufficient enough wardrobe gathered up to pass as wealthy couple and were able to check into your ritzy hotel. You and Four made your way up to the hotel room, floor 27 out of 35, the view of the city was absolutely breath taking. You had honestly never seen anything quite like it, “Wow,” You gasped dropping your many bags onto the floor and walking towards the large window that looked over West Hollywood.

The skyline was a mix of pastel pink and orange that had the dark shadows of tall buildings cutting jagged and rectangular shapes out of it, it looked as though it was something straight out of a magazine.

You’d also never been in a nicer hotel, it was large and spacious with a kitchenette, and one large bed covered in white sheets. You felt like there was a rock in your stomach “Why is there one bed?” You asked, furrowing your brow.

Four shrugged “One made the reservation, not me.” He said throwing his duffle bag down on the left side of the right side of the bed, opposite the window, “Guess it’s to seem more realistic? If the room gets searched, they won’t have to wonder why we use separate beds.” That was a far-fetched idea and part of you knew it was just One fucking with the two of you, “Don’t worry, I don’t snore.” Four joked, shooting you a cheeky winking at you.

You looked at him, slightly taken back by his blatant flirting, it caused your stomach to clench “Right, well,” You cleared your throat “I hope you’re not a blanket hog either.”

You sat on the bed, your laptop open and on your lap. It wasn’t the most ideal position, but you had to make do with what you had. Your fingers flew across your keyboard, satisfying clacks filling the large hotel room while you gathered information on Beck’s previous clientele. You turned towards Four who was mindlessly scrolling through his phone, “So for tomorrow, Beck is going to be at a vineyard for a tasting, that is where you’re going to approach him.” You said looking at Four to make sure he was paying attention. He wasn’t. You reached over, lightly kicking him and grabbing your attention, “Did you hear me?” You chastised.

Four jumped and sheepishly looked at you, “Yeah, I did, tomorrow we’re going to a vineyard and I’m going to talk to Beck.” He repeated looking at you and setting his phone on his chest.

You nodded, relieved that he was actually listening to you, “Good,” You said exhaling lightly “So, your referral is going to be this guy,” You said turning your screen towards Four, he leaned in and nodded his head “But what Beck doesn’t know is that Mr. Harrison is in prison and unable to answer any calls he may have regarding the validity of your referral.” You paused, giving the blond haired man a moment to soak in the information before you continued, “So, what you’re going to do is you’re going to introduce yourself, make some small talk, and then Segway to talk about your business associate Mr. Harrison. Mention something along the lines of special products and how high quality and reliable Beck’s side business is, say whatever you have to say to butter him up.”

“So I just need to kiss his ass?” Four asked for clarification.

You nodded your head, “Exactly, and for good measure we’re going to bring a bag of cash that I’ll be carrying.”

Four hummed, “Clever plan,” He complimented, you felt your face heating up, “You sure this is your first time in the field?” He gave you a skeptical glance before settling beneath the sheets and reaching to turn off his bedside lamp.

You shut your laptop, “Yeah, I just sit back at base most of the time, One didn’t even take me along to Italy,” You said and leaned over, putting it on the floor.

“You’ve been with us since Italy?” Disbelief filled Four’s voice.

“Yeah, I helped One track all of you down, he might be good with magnets but gathering info isn’t really his forte.” You said and sat up, shifting your pillows around before you laid back down, pulling the blankets up to your chin and burrowing in, “We better get some sleep, big day tomorrow.”

Four rolled onto his side, “Right, well, night.” He mumbled.

----

Your sleep was restless because of you nerves, you kept tossing and turning, sighing when the sheets got tangled in your feet until Four finally said something, “Stop moving, for the love of god.” He mumbled against his pillow, not bothering to even open an eye to look at you.

“Sorry,” You whispered, “I just can’t sleep.” You said smoothing your hands over the blankets that covered your chest.

Four let out a long, deep sigh, “Well try,” He was obviously someone who valued sleep and did not take kindly to be woken up.

When you finally awoke in the morning you stretched, feeling your back cracking as you groaned “Fuck,” You sighed, sitting up and looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings, right, you were on a mission. Four walked out of the bathroom, his hair still wet and messily towel dried, and wearing a white tee-shirt and boxer briefs.

You felt heat creeping up your neck and flushing your face at the sight, he turned around, feeling your eyes staring holes into him “Morning,” He greeted.

“Morning.” You answered back.

Four rummaged through the bags of clothes you bought yesterday, frowning “What do you even wear to a vineyard party?” He asked tossing several shirts aside.

You pursed your lips “A well-tailored suit?” You suggested, pulling the blankets back and grabbing your own things before heading to the bathroom, “You done in here?” You asked poking your head out the bathroom door.

Four looked up at you, still frustrated over his outfit of choice and nodded “Yeah, ‘m finished.” He said turning his attention back to the bags.

The hot water from the shower soothed your stiff shoulders and the steam filled your nostrils, you let out a soft sigh slicking your hair from your face and scrubbed your hair and body, freeing it of the filth that had built up from your travels. Your shower seemed to put the nerves you held over the meeting today at ease even if it was only temporary.

When you walked out of the bathroom, dressed and almost ready to go your gaze caught Four, “You- you clean up nicely.” You complimented.

It was true, he did clean up nicely. His hair was neatly slicked back and the buttons on his crisp white button down were taut against his fit chest, threatening to give way if he moved just right. His collar was upturned and a tie loosely hung around his neck. He turned, drinking in your figure a ghost of a smirk playing on his face “So do you,” He said casually struggling with his tie.

“Need help?” You asked, walking towards him your hands reaching for the tie as you closed the gap. You were close to him, nearly chest to chest and could smell the cologne he had bought the other day. You fiddled with his tie, tying it properly and tightening it comfortably against his neck, “There,” you said placing a lingering touch against his chest.

The two of you stood for a moment, staring at each other before you forced yourself to be the first one to pull away, quickly grabbing your purse and slipping your shoes on. Your throat felt tight, you needed to get some fresh air quickly before you went mad.

Taglist: @lapofthemusicgods​, @chonkyhambs​, @teageowen​, @l0ve-0f-my-life​, @takemetoneverland420​

Sink - Hinata Shoyo

AU: Fantasy / Merman

Revamp

GN! Reader, hardly any plot (it’s like nothing i’m sorry)

Word Count: 2.2K+ 

Pirates can be helpful sometimes. If you do anything to tick them off though, you're thrown overboard. They were self-serving, violent to a fault, and would only help outsiders if they got something of greater value in return. Profit, they said. Most pirate ships were run by humans, taking to the sea after being forced off of land by other groups. For this reason, the whole time on that ship was spent with their scorching gazes burning into the back of your skull. Being an elf, one doing work for the queen no less didn't help your cause. If you hadn’t been seasick you would’ve seen it coming. 

Now here you were, sinking down into the depths of the ocean hardy able to see the light through the crashing waves above you. Your wool cape weighed you down, getting heavier as it soaked in the salty water. It wrapped around your body, restricting your movements and thwarting any hope of being able to swim upwards.

Your chest hurt once your knees hit the sand at the bottom. The throbbing of your heartbeat in your ears was loud but didn't stop you from hearing the swishing of movement around you. Somehow, life underwater was the loudest and most silent experience. It was deafening.

"Hey there, person!"

You squinted your eyes as you tried to see despite the stinging from all the salt. About five, maybe less, metres ahead from where you pitifully kneeled, a merman swam over to lean against an algae-covered rock as if it was a bed. You bent backwards to get away from him, but it became useless since your torso just floated back up.

"Are you stuck? Odd. What is that? A tarp?"

The merman’s orange tail flicked, propelling him forward toward you with incredible speed. His webbed hands pulled at your cape and his long pointed ear twitched through the water, listening for something. You felt as though you were being sat on by a giant, the pressure on your chest grew stronger as you struggled to help the sea creature free you.

Once untied from your dark cape you were able to swim upwards toward the surface. You felt your chest expand as you swam higher making it easier to hold your breath.

Just as you broke through the surface of the water you gasped, grateful that you could finally breathe. You heaved in as much air as possible, trying to not let the splashing water get in your mouth. As you kicked and waved your arms through the water the aquatic man floated up next to you. He poked his head out of the water before ducking back down.

"Woah! You don't have a tail! Or fins, or anything! What are you?"

Treading the water with both arms and legs you kept yourself floating high enough to speak.

"Take me to shore and I'll speak to you then. This cape is weighing me down."

Nodding his head, the merman’s orange hair shook off some of the water in it. The movement made some water fly into your mouth, which you quickly spat out, not enjoying the taste. His hands hooked under your shoulders, hoisting you up to his chest.

"Hold your breath."

"I am (Y/N) (L/N) of the Elven Domain. I am an explorer and have direct orders from the queen to track down an artifact to keep it safe. And you are?"

"You're an elf?"

You sighed, staring the merman directly in his eyes. The two of you currently sat/stood on the sand, drying off. In front of both of you was the ocean that you had just crawled out of minutes before.  The merman flicked his tail happily and looked at you with a curious smile that seemed to eat away at his cheeks.

"You don't socialize, do you?"

He shook his head as he picked at the fins on his arms. “No, not really. I’ve been the personal worker for the princess since I could remember. Only the royal family makes connections with those on land. The rest of us barely remember the word for your people. Let alone seen one. And because I’m working for the princess all the time I don’t really have any friends or explore."

As he spoke, his tail had fully dried and began to morph into a set of thin legs. The colour from his tail seemed to take shape and become a pair of trousers that ended directly below the knee with a small frill. He slowly bent them with a large smile, wiggling his toes into the sand.

"We know of our abilities, but only those who attend world meetings use them. I've never had the chance."

Grabbing your hand suddenly, he pulled himself up and onto his feet.

"Now come on! You have an adventure to be on don't you?"

Marching forward Shoyo managed to take a couple of steps before his knees buckled inwards and he fell forward. His butt stuck in the air and both his lower legs and face were covered in sand. He was quick to adjust, flopping onto his back.

"I got to get used to this," he said smiling up at you

"I'm more surprised you managed to even take one step. What’s your name?"

His mouth popped into an ‘O’ shape before giving you another sharp-toothed grin, “Shoyo Hinata.”

You sat on the edge of a rock, cape splayed out by your side. Hinata splashed around in the water, bathing in the cold liquid against his skin and tail. A laugh would nearly escape you every time his head bobbed out of the water to either shake his hair dry or send a long trail of water out of his mouth in a tall arch. He occasionally would toss water your way in an attempt to get you wet, before going back to whatever he found entertaining at the bottom of the pool.

"So you are an elf. And there are other species out there like you. How many are there?" he asked.

Hinata pushed himself up on the rock next to you and let his tail begin to dry.

"There are humans and wizards. They are from the same family, but wizards have either become interested in the magic of others or are hungry for power. There are other water dwellers I'm sure. But no one has seen them since the War of Weapons. Along with some forest creatures who have small colonies instead of creating a large Empire like the Fae or Giants."

Hinata swung his tail trying to get off the last of the water so his legs would appear. As he did, drips flung your way, making you much wetter than any of his targeted splashes did. You scoffed, wiping your hands over your hefty clothing. Once dry, a silk-like material took the place of scales and legs, replacing the tail with pillowy clothing. You stared at them for a moment.

“Are those pants attached to your body or…” 

As you spoke Hinata's ears twitched as he heard every word along with any noise that came from the woods behind you. He ignored your comment, far more interested in the previous conversation. "Creatures like what?" he asked.

You looked to the woods thinking of the people and animals you have and will encounter on your travels. "There are centaurs, gods, dragons, nymphs and dwarves. Some that don't have specific names but recognizable features. Most of them fled to the woods after the war. The gods, well, there are no gods here. Not anymore, not really."

Hinata nodded and played with the large gem that was attached to your cape. His head tilted, "War of Weapons? What happened there?"

"I can't remember the exact details of course. It was almost three hundred years ago after all. And if you haven't connected with other races you were definitely born after."

Hinata nodded "I'm only a teen. So it makes sense that I wouldn't know. As I said, I’ve spent my whole life with the princess."

Sighing, you felt the sudden urge to throw yourself into the water. You cringed in disgust and looked into the deep ocean. The dark blue seemed much more welcoming now than it did when you had been thrown in. Maybe if you wished for it the dormant god would welcome you with open arms. 

"You're so young," you commented.

"And you're not?" Hinata tilted his head and looked toward you. He set down your cape.

"In age of body, I am. But of mind and experience, I have aged 400 years."

"400!" Hinata jumped back at the confession, hands holding tightly onto your gemstone. "But how? You look 14!" 

"People of Elven descent age much slower than the rest of the world. It's a gift and a curse. My own siblings are reaching their 900th years."

Hinata sat closer and rested his chin on your shoulder, pouting. You smiled and turned your head slightly toward him, getting a glimpse of the youthful expression that pulled at his lips.

"But the war. What happened?"

You looked to the horizon where you couldn't see the landmark or city.

"Humans, finding the magic of others made them power-hungry. They began to build troops in hopes of defeating other kingdoms and gain control of the world. Wizards, witches and the occasional warlock or enchantress began to appear. They had to go through deadly rituals to gain their power. And when they found out there was more to take, there was no stopping them. It was a war of not only hardware but of magical prowess."

Hinata rested his weight against your body as he listened to you tell the story of an old war.

"Elven, Mer, Demon, Wood, and God banded together to stop them. Each of them protecting the gems they had in their care."

Hinata stared at your side profile, his eyes reflected the light from the setting sun and portrayed admiration as he listened. The eyes of the mer glowed a brilliant gold colour with hazel accents and brown lining.

"Gems? Like the stones?"

You nodded.

"Some, although rare, have magic stored in them. There are three held by the gods, with them from birth to rebirth. Others are forged over hundreds of years on sacred ground. Often places are abandoned before a single gem is produced."

Hinata's orange hair tickled your neck, his webbed hand rested palm up on your knee. You took his hand and gently pressed your thumb into the center of it.

"(Y/N), what did you do in the war?"

Your eyes dropped into the water before you. Another urge, stronger than the last, wanted to pull you into the bottomless pit of water. It felt like you were about to choke.

"I watched friends and family live and die at the hands of the people we all treated so well. I can only wonder if they took our kindness as pity."

Hinata squeezed your hand with a slimy but gentle touch and dug his head deeper into your shoulder. He whined pitifully.

"I am an adventurer. So that's what I did. I went searching for clues, hideouts, anything I could find on the other side of the war. Along the way, I made a friend. His wings were a beige colour, very light. But his overall aura was much darker. His wings gave him little to no help because if he flew too high up, he would fall out of fear of being shot down."

You turned your head to the merman, shifting slightly to fully face him and avoid catching his pointed ears with your own. You raised your free hand up toward the darkened sky, pointing to the bright light from the moons above the two of you.

"His name, Kageyama Tobio. God of the moon."

Hinata sat, eyes larger than before as he looked up to the two shining dots of light in the sky. The moons, which he had never gotten the chance to see until now, danced slowly around each other as they spun around the world. He admired the still image of the two unequally sized moons.

"Where is he now?"

"Home, I assume. But his sister is young and missing. So there is no doubt in my mind that he is still searching."

The sun had fully set by now, letting the moons cover the forest in cool light and dark shadows. You lowered your hand to Hinata's shoulder and added some pressure to your fingertips.

"Rest for tonight. You've drained your energy enough for today." You smiled and pushed him down on the flat rock where your cape was, acting like a makeshift bed.

"And what of you? Are you not going to rest?" He asked, holding your hand as it dropped the edges of your cape over his shoulders.

"My mind is now plagued with thoughts. If I rest now I cannot guarantee you'll see me at dawn."

Hinata's brow furrowed as he questioned you. "Why would that be?"

You sighed and brushed his hair with your free hand. "My turning would toss me into deep water." You smiled slightly as Hinata's expression turned sour. "Now sleep. I’ll see you in the morning."

I honestly love this one cause the world is one I’ve had in my head for years... but have yet to actually do anything with... - Bacon

Posted: 03/08/2020

Since Life is Strange 2 is finally fully released, I let myself to write a probably not-so-short review of the complete season. The momentum for such a summary is already gone I presume but it took me a moment to finally digest and find the proper words to describe what I think and feel about this production. Following the game from the start, I patiently waited to look at the story as a whole, hoping to find an explanation for tons of burning questions and satisfying outcomes to my choices and decisions. Unfortunately, most of those didn’t happen, therefore I present you with a piece that is not very favorable towards the newest Dontnod production, harsh in places but honest. Please, do not read if you really enjoyed the story of the two brothers and find it meaningful and important, not burdened with any fallacy. Life is way too short to read reviews that just leave you frustrated.

Remember the scene in Life is Strange season one (I still hate the fact that I have to separate different instances of the franchise calling them seasons), when Max summoned by an enormous plasma TV in Victoria’s room fantasizes about watching “Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within” on it? “I like this movie, I don’t care what everybody says,” getting protective about her preferences, the little freckle leaves the room soon after, never gifting us with any explanation as to why she indeed values this animation so much or why it was an important statement. It was never brought back again, it will never matter, becoming simply a meme material or a trigger for snarky comments from Twitch streamers and YouTubers. I watched the said movie a long time ago, recalling only two things about it: the breathtaking animation of hair at the beginning and the fact that the main male character looked like Ben Affleck. The rest of the story fell into obscurity before the end credits hit the screen. I reached for this title only because I was interested in anything video games related, and the name of the popular franchise was more than enough.

The same thing goes for Life is Strange 2.

Just like the mentioned FF: The Spirits Within, the second instance of the beloved series is more of an animation than an interactive experience. Recently, plenty of video games, overwhelmed by finally reachable technology of smooth mocaps, facial expressions, hyper-realistic locations, and scanned people as characters, turned into an alley dedicated to B-class movies. From adventures by David Cage to Death Stranding, video games started to flip their working template, replacing the actual action with long animations, not the other way around. With scattered gameplay, sometimes forced as if the developers reminded themselves at the last minute that this product is supposed to be interactive, they raise an eyebrow at best, and boil your blood with the lack of creativity at its worst. Life Is Strange 2 follows this trend with astonishing enthusiasm and to the core. Even regarding this particular genre that’s supposed to focus on narrative, it barely stands as a walking simulator becoming a hardly watchable TV series — a road trip story where walking is limited.

Well, shit.

The gameplay in Life is Strange 2 is nonexistent. To be frank, riveting action-packed sequences were never a trademark of the series, but a blatant lack of any didn’t make this experience any better. With the first one, the rewind power allowed the player to actually be part of the narrative. The second, where Sean just serves as a witness to his brother’s actions, plays more like a full motion picture. An enormous amount of un-skippable cut-scenes change LIS2 into a tedious, dragging journey straight from the worst selection of buy 1 get 3 free Z-class movies. The music and the mastery in creating an atmosphere that rose Dontnod to international fame due to widespread acclaim can’t save those sequences either. It almost feels like their own creation so enchanted the development team that they ignored all the red flags and clumsy solutions to immerse in the world themselves, treating the actual player as a lesser evil, throwing them a bone just to claim it is a video game format. To no surprise, most of the items the player interacts with don’t matter at all and don’t serve any purpose either to foreshadow an upcoming outcome, present exposition to the world, or be in any way helpful.

The lack of superpower is not an issue here though. Before the Storm met the expectations with way more grace, proving that a story doesn’t need a lot of strange in life to grip and hold its audience for hours. Watching a superhero growing up is an interesting premise, but a hell of a challenge to execute and execute well. Some stories like “Little Man Tate” translate to a brilliant film, but don’t necessarily work as games, after the planning stage or first Game Design Document. The references regarding the first game also remain scattered and uneven, tossed on the pile with a heap of faith that devoted fans would notice, but without a purpose in mind.

Even if I sound harsh, I do believe that Dontnod wanted to deliver the best story possible, but Life is Strange 2 feels even too big to absorb or fill with details. Captain Spirit, not necessarily my cup of tea either, was in my opinion way more coherent, as the creative team felt more comfortable with such a small scope of a product. Everything falls into place after careful exploration, makes more sense with every minute. The mystery about the mother, an alumnus of Blackwell Academy, and an admirer of Jefferson’s work is a solid premise that didn’t raise expectations up the roof nor overpromise. The mystery of yet another mother, this time Life is Strange 2, played for over 3 and a half episodes, falls flat in comparison and ends in the disappointing question “that’s it?”

No, that’s not it. There’s more to it.

Life is Strange 1 was mocked as Tumblr: The Game, while the second instance could easily pass as Twitter: The Animated Series. The writers didn’t challenge themselves or the audience to answer the question of why certain people voted for Donald Trump, or why they would do it yet again. The only reason presented in the story is quite simplistic and obvious – because they are evil, deplorable people, not worth listening to. They are the worst. We are better. Issues of being harangued by foreigners about domestic policies and troubles of your own country are a brewing can of worms I wouldn’t like to touch at the moment. Still, this particular stance, which serves as painful generalization that every single republican voter in the US is foul, can be forged only by someone who either lives in a bubble or doesn’t live here at all. Simply because we all have parents, grandparents, relatives, friends, or co-workers who decided to elect the actual prescient to power. Some of them are racists, disgusting, and horrible personas, and some just belong to the scared of change, confused and manipulated crowd that don’t accept the fast-paced transformation nor the need for a revolution. We coexist together, arguing and fighting, especially during holiday breaks, but even if it costs me a headache, I wouldn’t call them evil. Millions of people voted for Trump, but only a few wouldn’t spit on a swastika if confronted with the Nazi banner.

It’s even more painful when you understand what kind of message was sewed into the stitches of a shattered story. There was no ill will, or at least I don’t think so, but an honest, genuine need to express the concern about modern America. Unfortunately, when executed, this concern changed into another yell or discourse by the family table during an argument with your racist uncle. An open discussion in a game community that unifies both left and right supporters equally by their love for this form of entertainment would be appreciated by many, just like after playing LIS1, a handful of people changed their views on LGBT issues.

Instead of a lesson that had to be experienced, we got a lecture about morality and tolerance, contradicting itself constantly and nonchalantly following the well-known tropes NOT in a sarcastic and admirable way known from Saturday Night Live, but in a lazy and sometimes even clumsy substitute of a dramatic format. The political landscape painted in LIS2 is caricatural, unforgiving, harsh like a deserted wasteland with a few peaceful oases to stop at, but shies over its own existence, not willing to thoroughly discuss the dreadful weather. Guess what? The sand won’t change into greener pastures only because you close your eyes, putting your imagination to work. Donald Trump might not be re-elected for a second term, but his supporters will stay in place, even more conflicted by the other side. It’s a brave decision to deliver such a punitive story but such a cowardice to break its pillars, hoping that the general public wouldn’t notice or get distracted when things get too heated up.

The lack of subtlety forced scene by scene is even more polarizing. There is no peaceful dialogue with the other side as if it couldn’t exist in this world. There is no change of heart or a path to do so. Sometimes it feels like the only message that LIS2 writers wanted to provide was to find your own, peaceful and liberal hermitage, either among hipsters in the Redwood forest, driving a car that your ‘family with money but no soul’ had bought you or move to a trailer park filled with artistic souls in Nowhere, Arizona. Any contact with the outside world can hurt you and your feelings. Drop off the grid or die. The end.

No discussion.

The efforts of trying to understand the motivation behind even the most dreadful character of the first game, got lost in preparation for the second. LIS2 builds a higher wall between two political sides, than any other game released after Trump became the president of the United States and desperately wants to keep it erected, ignoring the crumbling foundations of such. A proverbial river you shall not cross nor build bridges over since the only outcome would end up in death, destruction, or you and your young brother getting hurt.

I’m familiar with the discussion about LIS2, especially with a shouting match that if you do not like this instance, you are therefore a racist pig, a disgusting person without a soul, conscience, or working brain that doesn’t understand the situation and never will. On the contrary. In my humble opinion, we deserve a better discussion, better stories, better representation, not sticking to whatever is presented because it’s brave enough or was never approached before. I disagree with the stance that a Latino, bisexual main character is enough to close your eyes, omitting all problems that this title tries to shun, riding its high horse. No. Those topics are way too crucial to just walk past, setting for less with your head down, thanking for the game industry to take notice. You the player deserve better, even if you don’t struggle with specific issues on a daily basis. And after playing LIS2, you may feel so good about yourself, stating that an effort was made but it it wasn’t made enough.

I expected more. I wanted Dontnod to do more, and frankly, I feel silly putting so much faith in them and supporting their efforts. Armed with resources provided by Square Enix, I’m sure they are aware of the fact that most of their audience is quite young and wouldn’t mind a lesson or message about what to do amidst troubled times. Well, Dontnod doesn’t have any but warns you that voicing your opinion or being different may end up in disaster. Outraged, they just yell at the news, angry about what our reality has changed into, but nothing comes out of it. It’s all right, though. Our parents do the same thing. We started to do the same thing, but instead of complaining to family members, we have Twitter.

While Life is Strange 2 tries really hard to come across as a realistic and raw portrait of the US at the end of the decade, they didn’t have enough courage to show realistic obstacles two runaways would be faced with. The brothers do meet a handful of bigots and racists, but the rest of the fellow travelers help them beyond understanding or hidden agenda. Sean and Daniel never really struggle to find a place to stay or a warm meal, usually complaining on or off the screen just before the game mercifully provides them with a solution. There’s no trap they can fall into, no ambiguous characters that promise one thing and then demand something in return. It’s very honorable for Brody to pay for a place to stay, but if an adult man gave young kids a key to a motel room, I would consider a way more sinister outcome. It’s not even about Brody himself, since good people exist, just like the racist ones, but the boys not even once are put in a realistic, scary situation created by a supposed ally. If somebody is helpful, this person is always decent, offering them a job, a ride, some food or money. The bad people wear red hats and yell racist slurs. America by Dontnod is simple to navigate but raw and painful when not necessary and fairy-tale-like when it could teach an actual lesson. Running away from home is not so hazardous because of Trump supporters but because you can end up dead in a ravine, being robbed and raped. It’s not the first and surely not the last time when the developers feared to touch any topic of sexual abuse with a ten-foot pole, but then the journey plays more like a vacation than a desperate escape. Sean gets beaten-up a few times, loses his eye due to a brawl, but it doesn’t affect him at all in the long run. When Daniel finally gets kidnapped, it’s not an Epstein-like circle, dealing with human trafficking, but a religious cult that worships him. The first option, even if it feels like a stretch, is unfortunately way more realistic than the latter.

Preaching to the choir is not the biggest sin this game commits though. That brings me to the most discussed theme of the production, which is education.

With all due respect to the developers, writers, and designers, Life is Strange 2 in this aspect falls flat as a discovery of a Sunday father, who is responsible for taking his kid to the zoo and struggles to find any common ground with his offspring, either trying to crack jokes about famous pop-culture phenomena or talk about food discussing their next favorite meal. The said father is trying his best though, perfectly aware that it’s his only chance to teach his son a thing or two, but doesn’t know exactly where to start, torn apart between buying more ice cream and throwing a fit about a stain on the carpet. The father doesn’t even like kids that much and can’t translate his lessons into an engaging play that would be memorized forever, rolling his eyes and counting the days to his kid’s graduation so they could share a beer or two and talk about adult things. Now, any effort to explain how the world works seems to be in vain, therefore a waste of his precious time. Leaving the emotional approach aside, the father doesn’t have to cuddle with his kid when he’s scared, bullied, traumatized or asks millions of questions about the future or present, because the full-time mother is waiting at home willing to replace him in this duty. The mother, knowing that her ex-partner sucks big time at talking about feelings, will be the one who will hold the kid, patiently explaining that the boogieman does not exist, playing pirates, or stay late at night to distract his sorrows. The kid will never discuss his fears with his dad though, trying so hard to impress his male parent. He will never know, and it’s fine. The mother is going to do the job while he can deliver a once a week entertainment along with the lines of ultimate wisdom that most likely will be forgotten anyway.

This is not raising a kid, it’s nursing them like a fragile plant in a flowerpot, focusing on water, sun, and fertilizer, but discarding the emotional background, hoping that somebody else would take care of such issues if things go south.

Sean can’t raise his brother well, simply because he is immature and will stay immature for the rest of the game. There is no moment when he truly goes through a transformation changing from a boy to a man, a fully grown-up adult who takes responsibility for his actions and makes sacrifices for the sake of the greater good. No, surrendering in a fight in the church doesn’t serve as one, neither does the first sexual experience. He doesn’t wonder even once if the hastily constructed plan is benefiting Daniel, forcing it to the last minutes of the game, taking the separation as the worst thing that could happen. There’s no spark of a tragedy like in “The Road” when a father gives up his son to strangers for the sake of saving him. Sean doesn’t care, presenting no character development across the board, merely pushing forward. If there are doubts, they disappear in the blink of an eye when the next cut-scene takes place.

I understand that such a young lad as Sean wouldn’t know how to raise a kid, especially if having no model to rely on. However, a part of growing pains is developing the awareness that we know way less than we assumed. That said, Sean Diaz is always assuming he is right, not asking for advice regarding Daniel even once. Apparently, it’s not something that he’s interested in or ever will be. If Life is Strange 2 wants to pass as a coming of age story, it falls on its face before it even starts.

Moreover, locked in the auto-driven plot, Sean cannot grow up and gain a new perspective; otherwise, the story wouldn’t reach its big, explosion-packed finale of crossing the border. His desperate efforts of influencing his brother usually converge to order him around, feed him with half-truths or simply leave him in the dark when convenient. I didn’t see any difference or change in Sean’s approach from episode one when he scolded his brother, annoyed for his party plans being interrupted, and in episode three, when he reacts similarly, for the sake of spending time alone with the chosen love interest. There’s no deep thought, no wonder about his own wrongdoings expressed to his brother, no faults admitted, no fallacies explained, with one life-threating situation after another. From an illegal weed growing farm, to destroying police stations, Sean just follows the road, paved by the writers, oblivious to the harm done to his younger sibling, as if Daniel simply forgets the morally gray choices, growing his moral spine entirely on performing chores. Washing the dishes and peeling potatoes does not make us better people but understanding a perspective so different than our own does. Thanks to Sean, Daniel expands his world, but it’s a very one-sided perspective, focusing on always praised, hippie-style liberties, and disregarding every option that requires any code of conduct, as represented by the grandparents. While the older brother forces the younger one to keep up with the designed tasks, he never discusses the issues that really matter. In episode 3, the youngster gets involved in a heist, a robbery, but after it fails, costing Sean his eye and the possible death of some of their companions, this is never mentioned. Mexico, a plan that is hardly a plan at all, is supposed to be an answer to all the questions and doubts. El Dorado of knowledge.

This is not how you raise a dog, not to mention a child.

There is no emotional bond, no special ties between the brothers, except a few problematic moments that play mostly on simple connection forged by blood, not by circumstances. Sean worries about Daniel because he’s his brother, but the player starts to wonder quite quickly why and what for. Reminiscing about old times gets nailed down to a few lines about the comforts and amenities of a life long gone. The tough topics, such as grieving after personally witnessing their father’s death, are mentioned scarcely and without much emphasis, as if serving only as a reminder to the player, but not a poignant struggle. Same goes with the dog, their friends mutilated at the end of the weed farm chapter, Chris (aka captain spirit) who is mentioned just before the end credits of the second episode, and tons of others. On top of it, the scattered and not so often dialogue lines about putting people in danger refer only to the good folk, siding with the brothers, not to humankind in general. Killing a police officer or knocking down a gas station owner are just natural ways of how things work in America, honorable deeds since it’s apparently perfectly fine for a kid to attempt a homicide if people are mean.

What a brave story.

Chloe Price had been suffering for five years after William, her beloved father, died in a car crash. For Sean and Daniel, there is no grief to experience, but a memory to share with a plan to erect a monument in the future. Esteban Diaz is a plot device, a symbol of inequality, but not a family member. Even a dream sequence with his guest appearance lacks the impact of the subconscious conversations we’ve seen in Before the Storm. It just simply doesn’t matter.

I can’t believe I have to say this but the relatable part about LIS1 wasn’t the tornado, just like in LIS2 crossing the border is its weakest point, but it’s those small moments, gestures, quick smiles in passing, the atmosphere and a breath of fresh air when a line, sometimes silly, got dropped. In the most recent story, there is not a single line worth quoting, memorizing, or discussing. And please, don’t bring up “awesome possum” again. It’s literally taken from The Lego Movie song.

The brothers, just like Thelma and Louise, decide to leave everything behind, throwing away the life as they knew it and forging their own future despite all odds. Although, when the two desperate women drive off the cliff committing suicide, chased by the armed forces, there is nothing to explain as the audience fully understands their reasoning. Their will of life was strong, but the path they followed was too steep to return. Without any help or support, confronted with brutal honesty and the world’s cruelty around them, it is the best possible solution. The story of the two brothers, even if it tries to echo the iconic movie, couldn’t be more different. Despite resources at their disposal, family members that do care about their wellbeing, the whole community rising in protest in their hometown, they risk everything for the sake of getting back to the land they don’t even know. Their Mexican heritage is also mentioned just as an exposition, and, as we learn in the very last episode, just before the ending that Daniel doesn’t speak Spanish. So why do the stubborn Diaz brothers despite all odds travel to Mexico? Because.

Canada was too close, I guess.

Last but not least, let’s talk about sex, because why the hell not. A lot of fans or admirers of the previous instances howled across all social media about how much they miss Max and Chloe. I don’t really think it’s the case, but those two girls symbolize something that LIS2 has a tremendous problem with. There’s no emotional connection between the characters the brothers meet along the way, especially the ones that really should matter. Even the love interests feel more like nagging choices than anything else, an experiment during a camping trip, not something that would last or could be fantasized about. Instead of nerve-wracking decisions such as if you’re supposed to kiss Rachel, hold her hand, or the ecstatic discovery (for PriceFielders, but it was ecstatic, right?) that Chloe changed her phone’s background, we are instead presented with a lineup of sexual experiences, that maybe trail-blaze the road when it comes to topics tackled by a video game, but fall into obscurity as an emotional construction. There is no build-up between Sean and Finn as everything develops to a kiss in one conversation, and Cassidy has fewer lines than Victoria Chase before she invites Sean to her tent. We watch it as we watched it before, trying to get attached, feel something, but the only thing we remember was how much it touched us years ago when we played a different game but with a similar title. The sex scene, relatable or not, is stripped from the emotional intimacy and is as sensitively challenging as a dog being killed.

Character development doesn’t move an inch even if Sean, a surrogate father to his brother, lost his virginity to an older girl. There’s no single thought in his head that he might conceive his own offspring during this short but probably memorable experience. There’s not a single line except for the satisfaction of some female parts finally discovered. Oh, dashing explorer, will you ever learn?

It’s sad. I did want to like this game and gave it plenty of chances like no other titles ever. I’ve made excuses for the poor execution, technical problems, with the whiny voice acting that was driving me up the wall, plot twists written (I think) on a lunch break, and so on, but I couldn’t stand it. It’s a hard pass when it comes to a video game in general, not to mention the story, script, and everything else. Life is Strange season one; a low-budget production, was the first step to create a masterpiece that LIS2 might’ve been able to become. The second season didn’t learn much from LIS1’s mistakes, additionally exchanging the well-known beauty for a garbage fire, ignoring all the warning signs along the way. Delivering a story that tackles such important topics, it slides between the checkmarks on the board of issues, mentioning conversion therapy, religion, gayness, illegal immigration, and a spiral of crimes but never elaborating on any of them. There is no meat and potatoes presented on the plate of events, but just a sticky, sweet gravy with nothing underneath that leaves you not only hungry but frustrated, willing to call the chef and yell at the waiter. The trick is that unless you were living under a rock, there are tons of other productions in different media that give those themes justice, carefully unfolding all the aspects, giving voice to both sides. The fact that it’s the first video game having an affair with serious issues doesn’t matter. I don’t believe that anybody who consumes any kind of other media like decent books, movies, or TV shows can remain blind to the problems of Life is Strange 2, claiming it to be a good story. It’s not.

So here we are, girls, boys, and beyond. Life is Strange 2 with its broken mechanics, story, characters, and spirit slowly but surely will be forgotten. It’s Dontnod’s Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within that you might love to watch or play on your brand-new TV, despite what everybody else would say, omitting any valid or invalid criticism, but unfortunately, it won’t change the general optics about this particular piece of media. A lost chance or recklessness created a convoluted mess and with a heart beating in the wrong place. You might praise Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within, get excited about it since it’s a free world, free country (and even if it’s not, no one will take this ersatz of such liberty) and don’t let anybody tell you what to love. The problem is, that most likely the only thing that people will remember about this production is that the main male character looked like Ben Affleck and the hair animation was dope. Everything else won’t matter.

The same thing goes, unfortunately, for Life is Strange 2, subtitle: The Spirits Without.

I HAVE QUESTIONS!!! ABOUT FLINT!!!! a lot so have fun :D 4, 9, 10, 12 :) 13, 14, 17, 23, 27, 42, 44, 50, 56, 57, 59 (i think i asked this before but i forgot the answer lol), 61, 63, 67 !! also i ask about seaweed boy !! 3, 5 lol, 11, 18, 21, 30, 40, 44, 51, 59, 61, 64 !!! and a few for cadma !! 11, 19, 30, 36, 48, 53, 64, 69

UM HEWWO?!?!? THATS A LOT OF QUESTIONS! I am so excited to answer these...

Answers are under the cut! This will be... Long

Flint

4. If they could learn one spell that isn’t available to them at present, which spell would it be?

Magic in their setting is a little different, and these questions are dnd centric, but I think I can still answer this! Flint would probably be VERY interested in divination magic, of any kind. So spells that could divine futures, locate objects, or show hidden things.

9. Do they care about their appearance? How much effort do they put into presentation?

In public, appearance is a top priority. They mingle with plenty of people whenever they can, and it's important to them that they give others a good first impression, so Flint's grooming is off the charts compared to most people.

When they're crawling around in the ancient dust of a tomb, however, the way they look isn't nearly as important as grabbing as many valuable burial goods as they can!

10. How often do they lie? What situations cause them to be dishonest?

Flint's no saint, and lies plenty enough to prove it. Most of the time it's white lies to spare feelings or to get out of doing something, but the bigger lies come when people probe about their past. It's pretty obvious they don't want people to know about who they used to be, and the bigger the secret the bigger the lie they tell to keep others off their tail.

12. Have they ever been in love?

Plenty of times! Enough to count on a few hands. It's infatuation that strikes them most often, but they have been serious on occasion too.

13. What do they dislike about themself? Why?

They dislike how weak they can often be, as well as how easy it is to take advantage of them sometimes. It drives them to take the easy way out of difficult situations no matter the cost.

14. What is something they love about themself?

They love their body! All the little details from the way their hair curls, the blue of their eyes, their stature, etc. They're very comfortable, proud, and happy being themselves! 

I think this is the first character I've ever made who wouldn't want to change anything about their body for any reason :'D

17. What do they dream about, when their dreams are their own?

Beyond gold and riches, they dream about travelling to destinations both new and old, discovery, and about what stories they'll tell when they're old.

23. How do they feel about nicknames, titles, or labels that have been given to them? How do they feel about their name?

Nicknames are encouraged, but only between close friends and significant others! They don't have any titles or labels because they're not quite that infamous. Everyone who knows them refers to them by their first name, and that's what they're comfortable with because it's what they're used to!

As for how they feel about their name, they don't have strong opinions either way. It's the name they grew up with so they can't just toss it aside, but it has bad things attached to it as well. I'd say they think it's a ledger of all their (mis)deeds, and that's about it.

27. How do they mourn?

They carry on. But they swear to do better.

42. What are three words they would use to describe themself?

Confident, gorgeous, and amicable!

44. What do they need to learn?

To stop sticking their nose into trouble.

50. Can they sing? Can they dance?

Yes, Flint can sing and sings often! They will occasionally busk for lodging funds if they are ever scarce a few dollars, and have a very soothing voice that ensures at least a few people will toss them some coins. As for dancing, it's not something they're interested in, but you could always coax it out of them you can promise you'll be a good dance partner :)c

56. What animal do they most relate to?

Probably a dog? Fiercely loyal and trusting, but with a good nose (figuratively) for who they should let in on their vulnerabilities to.

57. What makes them angry?

Injustice, and the ideology that law and order outweighs the importance of the human condition. 

59. What is a quiet passion of theirs?

While not exactly quiet, they have a passion for music! Singing and playing the guitar is one of their favourite pastimes.

61. What kind of flower would they choose to pick from a meadow?

This is impractical, and they also aren't exactly found in meadows, but they would go for sunflowers. Something big and bold and bright!

63. What fight has scared them the most?

They haven't gotten there yet in the story I'm building around them, but any fight where someone almost dies and they're powerless to help is always terrifying! :^)

67. What makes them laugh?

Clever jokes, outrageous stories, and the thrill that comes from doing something dangerously stupid and getting away with it.

Tangle

3. What is their goal right now?

Two things: serve their unfathomable god to the best of their abilities, and get sweet, delicious revenge on the fishermen that almost killed him. The former is his current priority, because he knows he has plenty of years to hunt down his would-be murderers. Revenge is a dish to be savored :3c

5. Do they follow a higher power? What are their thoughts on divinity?

Before he met his patron the only thing he was concerned about was surviving. There's no time for gods when you're eking out a poor life in some nowhere village, after all!

After meeting his patron, there is honestly nothing in this world he could devote more time and attention to. So their relationship with higher powers and divinity etc all are attached by one string to a single entity!

11. What skills are they proficient in? Why?

Arcana, religion, and insight for obvious reasons! However he's also proficient in intimidation, because while he may look like a sweet boy he's actually kind of creepy (in an insane cultist kind of way), and that's sufficiently off putting enough that he can be rather intimidating.

18. Do they see themself as a leader or a follower?

lmao… definitely a follower.

21. Do they follow their head, their heart, or their body?

HMMM, I am not too sure about this yet, but probably his heart! He seems like he would be easily emotionally driven.

30. What do they seek out from others?

Open-mindedness! People who would be -cough- willingtosubmittotheoldgods -cough- -cough- I mean, people who won't judge him for his faith.

40. Do they enjoy poetry?

Nope! Not that he's had any exposure to the arts, though. I guess it would be more accurate to say he doesn't have an opinion :'D

44. What do they need to learn?

That he's not special, and his devotion to his god means barely a thing. He has in his mind this idea that he's some kind of glorious, special vessel through which his patron does its dark bidding, but in reality he's just a pile of meat labeled "minion." Until he learns that awful truth, he's got an ego about his position.

51. What is the most beautiful thing in the world, for them?

The rotten bones of shipwrecks stuck deep in the sand. They're a good source of materials, a home for the night, and they make lovely silhouettes against stormy seas.

59. What is a quiet passion of theirs?

It's done out of necessity, but they enjoy sewing up and mending clothes! 

61. What kind of flower would they choose to pick from a meadow?

Nothing specific, just any bud or bloom he can find :'D

64. Do they value mercy or justice more?

Probably justice! Although he's indifferent to things that happen to others, he is technically seeking justice for what happened to him, in his own… special way.

Cadma

11. What skills are they proficient in? why?

Athletics, performance and acrobatics because he's an active, swole boi! As well as that he's proficient in stealth and slight of hand because he is a smooth criminal, and he's also proficient in religion for a reason I cannot fathom or remember the reason for. 

19. What haunts them? What doesn’t?

Like most of my characters… the past lol… specifically, the people he's abandoned on a whim, and more pressingly his former captain, who kind of wants to spill his guts :')

What doesn't haunt him is his decisions to leave. In every instance he's left people he's found himself in a grander adventure, and he's thankful and at peace with those life decisions!

Essentially, he has the mentality that people only stay in your life for part of the journey. There’s no such thing as a lifelong partner or friend, so while he does remember people he’s left behind he thinks that charting his own course in life is more important that unbreakable bonds.

30. What do they seek out from others?

Damn good company! If you're an interesting person in any capacity Cadma will probably take a shine to you. He can't stand a stagnant lifestyle, and wants to surround himself with people who will bring adventure into his life.

36. What’s a secret they’ve kept?

It's not exactly a huge secret or anything, and anyone with eyes can tell because he has scales, but Cadma is very hush hush about his dragon ancestry and blood. It's caused him no end of troubles and he'd really rather people see him as a person rather than the inheritor of a rare bloodline.

48. What do they see in their future?

Adventure, and lots of it. Maybe a couple near death experiences too, which he is not so keen on but it comes with the job :')

53. Which is more frightening to them: day or night?

Night. Visibility is low and it's too quiet. Fires burn too bright. You have to let your guard down eventually. 

It's not a fun time.

64. Do they value mercy or justice more?

Definitely mercy! Cadma believes in second chances, and sometimes thirds. He's needed his fair share of them, so everyone else deserves chances too

69. How would they describe their party members?

Good fun and better friends! He's never been with people so easy to latch onto emotionally, and MAN is he attached to them…

---

Thank you so much for the ask, ilu!! It's so much fun talking about my characters, I love them a lot and the opportunity to get it off my chest has been really nice uwu

I am still accepting asks! And I finally have a page with links to my character's tags, in case anyone wants to peruse!

pwease... talk to me...

Deathseeker

5.

When her boots touched the black sand of the desert beyond the City of Memory, Elleynah lifted her thumb, opened the jagged scab, and let the blood fall. The needle formed from the sands pointed, and off they went towards their destination. A way out. A way home.

Now and again, she glanced at her defender, the dead and yet whole Sederis. Her eyes skimmed his features, the warmth in his face at the adventure they were undertaking, the freedom from consequence he enjoyed in this place. Whenever she felt herself stare too long she dragged her eyes back to the sand, suppressing the things that felt and twisted in her belly.

He noticed her gaze upon him and pretended not to see. Not wanting to bring up any uncomfortable memories of his untimely death. He wondered how many mourned him. His friends, obviously. His family, probably. But his people? The citizens of the Emberglades that he had died for? The Lords of the Houses who despised him? What of the councilmen he imprisoned? But he dispelled the thoughts- Though they did not hurt him in his state, they were no more than just time wasted on doubts. Time was better spent in the present. Especially in this place.

The sands went on and on. Now and again she would check their progress with spilled blood, and alter their course accordingly. Eventually, though, she felt the weight of living.

Slowing her steps, she huffed. “I have to stop.” Elleynah glanced at him side long. “I know you could keep going until the stars burned out, but unfortunately I’m still… alive here, and that means I get tired.” Her tone was almost defensive, as though she expected chastening. “Can we make a short camp?”

“I… Forgot about that.” He said sheepishly as Elleynah admitted her limitations. As sheepish as a dead man could sound. “Of course we could make camp. I could probably help with that as well.”

He upturned Zin’jang, stabbing in deep into the sands beneath him and from its hilt sprouted leaves of blackness, draping downwards. Like sheets of a pavilion. They were not perfect, nor did they serve much purposes in a windless wasteland in these dunes. But they would trap heat from any fire- and most importantly, would feel like shelter.

She watched him use the magic of death as easily as wielding his spear, and Elleynah looked away, worrying her lower lip with her teeth until she tasted copper. Ignoring herself, she rubbed her lip, smudging the red, turned her attention to her pack, thumbing through her deck idly. In death, the mundane was often turned complex and inscrutable-- the difficult however, became commonplace. Under the leaves of the summoned pavilion, she laid out a small bag. When she opened it, the scent of ash and dry wood and lightning storms emerged; and with a quick dribble of blood, fire bloomed from it in a small but warm makeshift hearth.

Elleynah breathed in the smell, but it did little to relax the tenseness of her shoulders. “It’s absolutely insane how much power living blood has here. It’s little wonder all those dark campfire tales involve creatures seeking living flesh and blood. Just a drop of it and…” She motioned to the flame, and the sand, and the darkness beyond.

Sederis nodded. “It is plied by those of intelligence here, like currency. I suppose it is why Lady Death had me spill and have had me spill so much of it in her name. It turned a simple idea- an ideological seed- into a God- and all her realm.” Sederis joined her by the fire, snapping away the armor pieces that made his silhouette. Was this how he acted in times of rest? He had been relentless in his hunt until now. It felt good, he supposed, just to stop.

“I theorise that is the reason why I walk here with such powers. There is a blood price hanging above my head, paid for in the thousands. Every life taken, every death given in offering, every life that was ended in my name. Just as I had in life- in my own way- I now carry them all within me in death. Their memories and names etched into my mind’s eye.” He gave a thoughtful look and considered the rules of this realm. “If I have a mind- I’m not entirely sure if I do in this place. I’m not even sure how much of me I’m made of- Or if I’m actually mostly made of everyone else.” The Deathseeker implied, and made sense in the same way riddles did.

Elleynah frowned, raising a hand to the flame. “I was told too that it’s catalyst, in a world that hungers. Blood can be so many different things; inside you its vital, outside its grisly. Blue blood, noble blood, innocent blood. It’s all the same, to a mender. Magic seems to operate outside of theoretical similarities.” She let the light burn through her flesh, rendering her hand red to her eyes. “Every culture I know assigns some value to it. So, little wonder in death it’s a precious as gold is above, or more so.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest, looking into the fire. “You aren’t the same, Sederis. I don’t know if it’s your Lady or the world here or the blood and souls you carry but you’re different.” Her voice goes small. “Everything here is alike-but-not-the-same as things above. It’s maddening and terrifying. I was so sure if I called upon the Hanged Man he would have your face and now I wonder what he’s doing, bereft so of one to Patron.” She snorts. “He will find another, but… to me, it should have always been you. And now it’s not. And you’re not. You’re dead. Lirelle is dead, but she’s not even here she’s up there and I’m down here.” The words tumble from her in a deluge of exhaustion, and only now in the relative safety of the pavilion can he see the desperation in her. “Death means change, I’ve always known that, but I hate what it’s done. I hate it so much I could rip the card apart even knowing who he Patrons and what it might mean because I am so angry.”

She has been hunted for months, unable to trust in any familiar thing. The weight on her shoulders has taxed even her steel-spined resolve, and Elleynah the Oracle is closer now to Little Leyna than she has been in decades; the wide eyed, fractured girl child who only ever meant to fix the broken things around her.

Sederis kneeled opposite her as she pulled her knees to her chest, and after a moment of deliberation, he wrapped Elleynah in his arms. Pressing the nape of her neck to his shoulder, he encouraged her to cry, if she needed to.

He was cold to the touch, barely material, but the warmth of the embrace remained. He didn’t know if he had the right words for his friend, but knew it in his being that it was the right thing to do.

“You’re right. I am not the same. At the end of everything, I knew, at last, what it all had meant. The meaning of sacrifice. To be reborn. To see death in a whole new light. That my life of war, had been a search for my own peace,” he spoke softly, letting the words hum through his shadowed form. “ In death I grew past what he was, and he can’t be my patron when I no longer need him.”

Death, in a way, had made him whole and he spoke of his patron as if he were a guardian angel. Keeping him from straying but the one path he was always meant to take.

“Change is… Inevitable. Nothing remains the same. Not even in death. But if there’s one thing to tell you, one thing I’ve learned after all the time I’ve spent in this place, is this:

Whenever you despair about those golden days in the sun, lost to time- stolen by death- as I once did. Do it well. Mourn their passing. Honor it with all your heart. But be glad for them too. Be glad that they happened. Be glad that they gave you memories that are worthy of weeping over. Then when the tears are done, hold them close to your heart where the march of time cannot touch them.”

Perhaps this was the secret of his form. Why he hadn’t too become a blood hungering beast of the shadowlands. Perhaps it was because he cherished the life he lived. All the pain. All the joy. He cherished it all so much till madness and death held no hold over any of it.

Anger like she had never known gripped her; caught her in coils of heat so intense it felt like flame, and whether she knew it or not they whipped off of her like solar flares, visible in the sands of death because of their vitality. He wrapped her in his arms and she gripped him, tight enough her nails broke, tight enough he would have bled if he had yet lived.

She remembered--

Tossing cards off the edge of a floating city, and how she had thought that moment would be the beginning of forever and the end of her history and how she had failed everyone. Everyone. Dying was supposed to be an escape from this weight but she found it was even harder to bear when faced with the plain, unglossed consequence of her failure to be good enough.

She grit her teeth to keep the primal scream in her throat, and she swallowed it down with her tears and her admissions and everything she had held inside for years. Years she had born these sorrows and years she had carried the guilt and she never allowed herself to mourn because--

“I can’t let go of what was never really--” It escapes and she lifts a hand to her mouth, pressing her knuckles into her lips as she swallows her own blood from bitten lips. 

It hurt him. Not in the way that claws and teeth did as they tore into his new form. But deeper, sharper. In ways that were beyond what mere damage could do. But he held her, tighter still, receiving her fury and taking it away to the places beyond it.

“Hold them to your heart too. All of them. Things undone, things unsaid. Things that never could be. Though it makes reality harder to bear, there is merit to fantasies- Of what could have been- Of doing things left undone- it is what keeps us going. They inform us of what things could still be,” Sederis speaks from the depths within himself. His own failures rising to the surface. Things unsaid. People unsaved. Frozen bodies of refugees in Light’s Hope. Lazing on a sunny afternoon upon a couch in their Dalaran apartment. “Hold them to your heart. And when the fires die and the tears are spent- Use them to build a better future.”

Like he had. In the form of a manor, and a beach that waited for Lirelle across the gap.

Everything felt too close. He was Sederis and he wasn’t and she was Elleynah and she wasn’t really, was she? Not anymore, not the way she had been. Things changed by time and trauma; double time, double duty she had sworn back on a ship and it had put muscle on her and years around the lines by her mouth. Elleynah was a girl swearing an oath-- Elleynah was a novice mender bearing too much weight on freckled shoulders-- Elleynah was a sister who faltered and a friend who failed and a lover who had been too scared to love until it was almost too late. 

She sucked in a breath and the tears that spilled on her were hot with anger and disappointment and frustration. Her arms wrapped around herself, through Sederis because in this land of ash and smoke and memory, she was alive and real and he was made up of nothing but what-ifs and promises fulfilled. She had never ever once been enough and--

Her fingers brushed the leather pack where her cards lie, and something ripped through her in a current. Gasping aloud, she sat up straight, fingers scrambling for purchase on the leather.

“My-- my deck--” She hissed through clenched teeth. “Somethings--” Her hand seemed to struggle against the effort of opening the pouch. Gritting her teeth she finally forced it open, and like a cloud of locusts, the cards erupted around them in a flury of painted paper and magic. Threads of blood seemed to connect them in a web, pulsing around the pair and overcoming the pavilion in a flood.

Elleynah’s frame stiffened in his arms-- she looked at the cards, and they had all changed to share a single form, a single card thronging them where it should have been the whole of the deck.

A heart, with three blades piercing it, a storm brewing under it, blood seeping from the metal into a pool of black. The Three of Swords. 

In words like buzzing, it spoke.

You have called on the useful, the necessary, but not the needed little Oracle. The cards swirled around them, and Elleynah remembered. She had bitten her lip, and it had bled, and she had reached for the deck and--

Unsummoned, the Three of Swords pulsed.

You would call on Illusion and you would call upon Will, but not on Truths? You have Spoken for us, but always inside you nurse the Hope that we may be undone. The Devil. The Tower. The Swords. You use us but do not listen; will not ask for the fate for yourself for fear of incurring the Blood Debt. You will Listen now and Feel all that you have Denied.

Elleynah grabbed for Sederis’ hand, her other crept over the sand, towards the fire he had made, surreptitious. 

“At my signal, run.”

-

Image: Sandar Desert by Karen Haller

@retributionpriest​ @stormandozone​ @thanidiel​

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (117/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

[13 March, 233 Before Age.   Hexill VI.]

The Hexillians had turned down multiple invitations to join the Federation.    Lying just beyond the Federation border, their solar system was a valued trading partner.    There was a strong pro-Federation movement in the planet's political arena, but it was hamstrung by conflicting opinions over the details.    Even the most isolationist voices in the Hexillian government could not deny that their world was growing closer and closer to the Federation each day, and had prospered for it.  

But the fact remained that Hexill VI was not a Federation member, and so when the Saiyan invader appeared on their world, and began to attack it, they had no mutual defense pact to invoke, nor any reason to expect aid.   Instead, they relied upon their own military, and while much of their arsenal had been acquired from the Federation, they were unprepared for the power that the Saiyan possessed.  

"Know that you serve an abomination!" she would say whenever she would attack one of their cities.  "Know that Trismegistus is the true answer, the reagent that will change the universe!   Rejoice, for I bring you a gift!    He has sent his prophet into your wilderness, that you may turn away from the abomination, and be cleansed!"

Then the Hexillians would launch a counterattack, and she would always withdraw.    The civilian leaders took this as a hopeful sign.   If they could just corner the Saiyan "prophet", then they could surely defeat her.   Those who opposed Federation membership used this talking point to argue that they didn't need an alliance for protection.    Those who supported Federation membership claimed that victory would be much swifter with a starfleet backing them up.   In either case, they painted a very rosy picture for their constituents.    Lives had been lost and infrastructure had been destroyed, but the invasion would be repelled, and soon they could rebuild.   That was what the politicians said.

The military leaders had a less optimistic appraisal.    They believed the Saiyan woman was merely playing for time, and that she had the power to overwhelm their defenses if she chose to do so.    Their weapons were supposed to be strong enough to repel a typical Saiyan intruder, but there was nothing normal about her.   Sensor data indicated that she was much faster than she seemed to be letting on.    Her battlefield sermons bore little resemblance to the usual low-brow banter used by most Saiyan pirates.   And her burgundy costume   made it difficult to tell that she was a Saiyan at all.   If the woman had a tail, it was hidden beneath the chlamys gown handing from her shoulders.    Her black hair was dyed with streaks of crimson, and bound with an elaborate series of red bands.  

"The fated day approaches!" she cried as she attacked a hydroponics complex less than a hundred miles from a defense base.    "Your bellies will go empty, that you might fill your spirits with the truth!"

Much of the complex was staffed by robotic workers, but the Hexillian technicians who maintained them were forced to flee.    Most Saiyans were content to fire blasts of  ki energy at their targets, but this one was different.   She would light fires wherever she could, then destroy various installations that tied in with whatever "topic" she happened to be raving about.    In this case, she burned the crops, blasted large food processing units to pieces, and then targeted the Hexillian workers who had remained behind to see that the others evacuated safely.  

"Ah, so you volunteer for the culling!" she said as she plucked a Hexillian shift manager from the ground.   "Your blood will write the history of the future!"

"Lemme go!" the man pleaded.   "I gotta family!"   Specifically, he had a wife and two sons, with an egg that was due to hatch any day now.   He didn't honestly expect the Saiyan to care, but as he struggled in her grip, he didn't know what else to say, and in his panic, his loved ones were the first thing to come to mind.

"Excellent!" she replied.   "Blood is always more valuable when taken from one who would be mourned!"   With that, she flew to a spot on the facility that she had cleared of wreckage, and dumped him into a small group of other captives.    Surrounding them was a circular pattern drawn in the ground, adorned with mystic inscriptions she had learned from worlds no Hexillian had ever known.

"The thrice-blessed is merciful," the Saiyan  announced as she drew a short spear from behind her back.   "The price of his transformative power is great, but he will ask only a small toll from your world.   Know that your lives will be taken so that your people will be permitted to witness his glorious triumph!"

In her hand, the weapon extended, growing into a long lance which she then leveled at her captives like a rifle.  The blade at the tip began to glow with a blue light, her eyes closed, and she spoke in tongues as she hovered over them, preparing to slaughter them all.  

"Nice boots."

The prophetess had sensed a powerful ki nearby, but in the moment between sensing the power and opening her eyes to search for it, the source of the ki had already closed the distance between them.  

"Who dares--?" she asked, but then she saw the interloper's black shirt and yellow pants, and she recognized her immediately.   "Ah, the abomination herself.    My master said you would come, though he did not expect you quite so early.    I should have known that you would defy his holy timetable."  

"Not big on the color," Luffa said.    "Lot of people think red's a good look for Saiyans, since we get bloodied up so much, but they never think about how it'll look when it dries.    Besides, there's other colors of blood out there.   Green, purple.   You name it."

The prophet pointed her spear at Luffa, who was floating directly above the captive Hexillians.    "You speak in riddles, heretic!" she said.   "Be warned that your idle chatter will avail you nothing here, for I have seen the truth, and the truth has enslaved me completely."

"What riddles?" Luffa said.    "I said I like your boots.    Not sure I could wear that style, though.   I'm not big on heels myself.   They make me look taller, but I feel kind of awkward when I wear them.    But on other people, I think they look pretty cool.    You look like you could stab someone with one of those.     Are they comfortable?   They don't look it, but you seem pretty used to wearing them."  

"We are both heralds, you and I," the prophet said.    "You, the abomination Luffa, and I, his humble servant, the prophetess Aonorry.    Fate has ordained this meeting, to mark the advent of his temple upon this world--!"

"I'm not wild about the cut," Luffa said as she stared at Aonorry's legs and rubbed her chin.    "Thigh-highs?   I guess the material is flexible enough, but I'm more into below-the-knee.    Just my preference though.   Oh, wait, I just noticed they match your gloves.   Okay, well that adds up then.   Now I'm trying to picture shorter boots with shorter gloves."

"Enough!" Aonorry screamed.    "This is my moment!   The culmination of my sacred training, of my life!    I will not stand at the gates of death and be mocked in this way!"    

Suddenly a blast of energy fired from the point of the lance, bathing Luffa in its destructive radiance.   Below, the Hexillians cried out in horror at the apparent destruction of their rescuer.    When the light faded from Aonorry's attack, there was no trace of Luffa.

"I'll not be fooled by your trickery!" Aonorry said.   She quickly spun around, scanning the immediate area with all of her senses to locate her enemy.     "I lack the power to defeat you so easily.   But you betray yourself by hiding from me.   If your power were true, you would have nothing to fear from me, and no cause to... run?"

It was the sound that gave it away.    Aonorry could sense flashes of ki all around her, but none of them lasted long enough for her to get a fix on Luffa's location.   Then she realized that she was hearing buzzes in the air, the sound of her enemy zipping past her so quickly that her eyes couldn't follow the movements.    Aonorry had expected power, for this was the core feature of Luffa's reputation.    What she hadn't anticipated was the depth of skill that Luffa now displayed.    Her ki control was so great that she was using it for only brief instants, flinging herself back and forth at amazing speeds, just to keep Aonorry off-balance.

And then, just when she realized that this was meant to throw her off-balance, she felt Luffa's fingers wrapping around her ankle, and in the next moment she found herself slamming into the ground.    In spite of the pain, in spite of the blood Aonorry felt tricking from her nose and mouth, she tried to get up and recover.   Before she could even roll over, she felt a tremendous weight pressing against her back.    Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Luffa standing over her, using one foot to pin Aonorry to the ground.  At some point, Luffa had transformed into her Super Saiyan form.   Aonorry couldn't see it, pinned to the ground face-down as she was, but she could certainly feel the increased power.

"On second thought," Luffa said, "your boots kind of suck.   If they were black, or knee length, or if they came in flats, any one of those, then yeah, I could overlook the other two, but no.     Three strikes."

As she spoke, Luffa raised Aonorry's lance in her hand, and began to twirl it around like a baton.   "You came here alone, as far as I can tell," she said.   The intel I received shows you're the only Saiyan involved in every battle, and I can't sense any others coming out of hiding to save you.    But you must have picked this planet because you know I'd have to show up and deal with you personally.  The Federation starfleet can't come out this far unless the Hexillian government asks, but I can come and go as I please.   So you knew I'd be coming alone, and you knew you couldn't stop me by yourself.    So this is a trap, and you're just the bait, right?"

She applied more pressure to Aonorry's back, and Aonorry's shriek surprised even herself.      She hadn't expected anything quite like this.   It was supposed to be majestic.    The abomination was supposed to recoil in terror as Aonorry revealed the true nature of her lord.   Instead, she lay face down a puddle of dirt mixed with her own blood.    

"Or is it a diversion?" Luffa asked.    "You lured me all the way out here to keep me away from something else?     Normally, I'd read your mind to find out for myself, but I know you Jindan-users have psychic booby traps inside your heads."

She pointed the tip of Aonorry's weapon at the base of Aonorry's skull.   "You sure got quiet all of a sudden," Luffa said.    "You said you were a prophet, right?    Had plenty to say a minute ago.   Well, go on and preach. I'm listening."

"He... he's not coming," Aonorry said.   "He said he would save me if I faced you alone.    But you've already beaten me, and he... he isn't here."

"Who?" Luffa asked.  

"T-Trismegistus," Aonorry said, choking back tears.    "He anointed me as one of the Orichalcum Order.   He told me that I would overcome any adversity and prepare this planet for his arrival.     But you're killing me and he isn't here!"  

"Well, I haven't actually started killing you yet," Luffa said.  "Let's give him a few more minutes.   Maybe he overslept."

"He... he used me," Aonorry gasped.   "I did everything he said, and now he's abandoned me to die here!    After all those things he said to me in his bedroom.   Was that all it was to him?"

"Men, right?" Luffa asked, thought not as mockingly as before.    "I guess this guy isn't as 'thrice-blessed' as you thought, huh?"

"That bastard," Aonorry shouted.    "I literally worshiped him, cut off my own tail for him, and he won't even lift a finger for me!    How could I have been so stupid?"

"Hey, it's not too late to turn things around," Luffa said.   "Tell me what you know, and I'll see to it that he'll regret the day he ever met you."

Aonorry hesitated at this offer.    "What will become of me?" she asked.   "You won't simply let me go."

"Hell no," Luffa said.   "You killed a lot of people here, and you'll have to answer for that.    Legally, I'm not even supposed to be here, so helping you escape would just make a bad situation worse.   But, if you help us put these Jindan clowns out of business... well, maybe we can work something out."  

She pressed the tip of the spear against Aonorry's neck, but gently enough that it didn't break the skin.  "Or you can die here and now," Luffa added.   "Your call, but for what it's worth, I know what it's like to be betrayed.   If I were you, I'd want to do anything I could to make the bastard pay."

Aonorry balled her fists and pounded them into the dirt.    "You... you actually care, don't you?" she said.   "You came here to save these people.   He told me you were the devil, evil incarnate... and here you are, actually sympathizing with me."

"I get that a lot," Luffa said.   "People tell me I'm not so scary once they get to know me.   Like it's so hard to give a crap."  

"All right, then.   I'll tell you all that I know.    Just  give me your word that you'll destroy hi--... Destroy h--... hhurk!"

Luffa was about to ask her what was wrong, when suddenly Aonorry vomited blood onto the ground.   She began to convulse wildly, and Luffa stepped away from her.  

Aonorry rose to a kneeling position, then grabbed at her throat, as if trying to strangle herself.    Her eyes, once proud and righteous, now looked to Luffa with a silent plea for help.   The blood--or whatever it actually was--continued to stream from her mouth.  

Unsure how to deal with Aonorry, Luffa aimed her hand in the opposite direction and fired a ki blast, which cleared a path through the flames that surrounded them.     "All of you!" she called to the Hexillians.   "Get out of here now!   Your soldiers are heading this way.   Find them and get them to take you as far away as you can.   Go!"

Though confused, they did as she said, leaving Luffa alone to witness whatever was happening to Aonorry.    By now, Luffa was convinced that the red fluid flowing from the other Saiyan's mouth wasn't mere blood.   The sheer volume of it defied Saiyan anatomy.   Within minutes, the former "prophetess" was kneeling in a shallow pool nearly ten feet in diameter.    Luffa's first instinct was to kill her now and put an end to this, but she doubted that killing Aonorry would actually solve anything.   Still, with no other obvious course of action, she pointed her finger at Aonorry's head, and charged her ki just in case.    

Then the ground began to shake, and Luffa knew that the problem was bigger than Aonorry.   The "blood"-soaked soil began to expand and grow all around Aonorry, and Luffa could sense a presence within it.     In seconds, a large hill had formed before Luffa's eyes.   Soon after that, it grew into a mesa, and then it began to reshape itself, like wet clay being sculpted by giant, invisible hands.     At last, the two-hundred-foot-tall formation stood revealed as a humanoid figure.    Gleaming purple eyes opened on its head, and it stared down at Luffa as it continued to refine its shape.    Gradually, the face of the creature sharpened and resolved, until at last she could see the features of someone she recognized.    

"Rehval..." Luffa muttered.  

"Welcome, Luffa," said the rock-creature who wore Rehval's likeness.    "I understand you've been looking for me.     Was there something you wanted to say?"

*******

"Vengeance Cannon," Luffa replied, and she fired a thin beam of red light through the forehead of the creature.  

However, the Rehval-thing suffered no ill effects from this, aside from the four-inch-wide hole she had bored through it.  

"As passionate as ever, I see.    You truly are a magnificent woman.   It's a shame we couldn't come to terms--"

Luffa fired a much wider blast of energy, this time blasting the rock-creatures entire head and neck into pebbles.   It stumbled forward, and just as she flew to avoid it, the creature managed to stop itself from falling over.    Instead, it stepped back, straightened its posture, then slowly regrew its head.    

"I trust that you're beginning to understand why I arranged to speak to you this way,"  he said after his mouth had been restored.   "I would have preferred a face-to-face meeting, but you're much too volatile, and I'm too important to jeopardize my safety that way."

"You're late, aren't you?" Luffa scoffed.   "Your lapdog Aonorry had given up on you.   She was all set to betray you to me, and then suddenly you showed yourself.    It's enough to make a girl think you were afraid."

"Don't flatter yourself, Luffa," Rehval said.   "The fact is that I was counting on young Aonorry to have a crisis of faith.    As part of my flock, she devoted herself to me completely, allowing me to learn her every strength and weakness.   Hers was a brittle sort of belief.   I knew that if I disappointed her, even slightly, that she would turn against me in anger.  So I had her drink a potion that would use her disillusionment as a catalyst.   Once activated, she would infuse it into the soil, and bring about the form you see before you."

He reached for his shoulder, and gently picked up the prone form of Aonorry, who had been laying motionless upon him.  

"So that's it," Luffa said.    "You've decided that being a self-righteous king wasn't good enough, so now you've become some sort of sorcerer with his own cult.     Trismegistus, that's what they all call you now."  

"The thrice-blessed one," he explained.   "It was the title of a great alchemist from many thousands of years ago.    So great, in fact, that he was eventually defied by his people.   I chose to usurp his title, since I consider myself to be just as blessed as he was.    First: King of the Saiyans.   Second: Master of the Jindan Cult.  Third: Savior of the Galaxy."

"Now it all makes sense," Luffa said.   "You went into hiding after our last encounter, then you packed up your kingdom and left before I could find you.    You knew you'd lose support among your idiot subjects, so you whipped up this scam of yours and promised to make Saiyans stronger in exchange for their loyalty.    I had heard 'Trismegistus' sent his cult to invade 'Rehval's' kingdom, but I guess that was all just a ruse to cover your tracks."

"You don't sound very impressed with that," Rehval said.  

Luffa turned her head and spat on the ground.   "You really do have no pride at all do you?   A true Saiyan wouldn't resort to potions and magic to make themselves stronger!    It wasn't enough for you to pollute your own body with that sort of filth.   Now you've tricked others into making the same mistake!"  

"Tricked them?" Rehval asked with a laugh.   "They all came to me.    Many of them despised my rule, but they sought me out anyway, all because they craved greater power. "   He held up Aonorry in his palm.    "This one, for example.    She was like you, once.   She hated the monarchy that my grandfather started.   She wanted nothing to do with King Rehval.    Ah, but once she heard about the miracle of Jindan, and how its creator, Trismegistus, led an attack on King Rehval's stronghold, she became fascinated.    She did everything she could to find it.    I didn't make the trail easy to find, Luffa.   It was a test of determination.    But my beloved Aonorry passed."

"And what does she think now?" Luffa asked.    "Now that she knows she's bound herself to the same king she opposed?"

"Let's find out," Rehval suggested.    Without warning, he dropped his prophet, allowing her to fall hundreds of feet to the ground.    

"Bastard!" Luffa snarled as she flew up to catch her.     As she did, Rehval pointed his enormous earthen hand down at them and fired a beam of energy.    

"You're so predictable, Luffa," he said.    "For all your talk of warrior pride, you can be so soft that it's pitiful.   Was it really worth dying just now so that you could save an enemy?"

When the light from his attack faded, he saw  no trace of the Saiyan women.    Then he noticed something on his mountainous shoulder, and he looked over to find Luffa standing there, holding Aonorry's unconscious form in her arms.    Before he could react, Luffa opened her mouth and a stream of golden ki energy blasted him in the face.  

"Predict this!" she shouted when she was finished.    Then she stamped her foot down onto Rehval's rocky shoulder.   The force was so great that a crack formed, and slowly expanded.    As Luffa jumped away, Rehval's right arm began to break loose from his body, and then it fell off completely.  

*******

Luffa flew until she reached a lake, then hovered just inches above it.    Satisfied that Rehval wasn't chasing her, she dunked Aonorry's head into the water.    

"Wake up, idiot!" Luffa shouted.   "Your precious master finally showed up.   Any ideas on what his plan is?"

"Whuh-what?" Aonorry sputtered as the cold water brought her around.  "Trismegistus is here?"

"Yeah, well most people know him as 'King Rehval', though I've heard that's not his real name either," Luffa said.   She tossed Aonorry onto the lakeshore and waited for her to get her bearings.   "He's been playing you for a fool this whole time.   You and everyone else in the Jindan cult."  

"He really did come for me," Aonorry said, now holding her hands over her cheeks.     "And... after I was ready to betray him.    Oh... oh my..."

"He was counting on you to betray him," Luffa said.   "The bastard's been toying with you, and he lied to you the whole time!    Loyalty means nothing to him!"

Luffa had more unkind words to say about King Rehval, but before she could speak them, the ground began to shake beneath them, and then another column of earth and rock began to rise up and shape itself into a humanoid form.  

"Luffa, Luffa, Luffa," Rehval's voice boomed.   "When will you ever learn?"

Luffa left Aonorry where she was and charged her ki before leaping headlong into Rehval's stone belly.  She made a crater on the surface, and knocked him off balance.    Without pausing, she flew around him, peppering his body with golden energy blasts as she went.   To an outside observer, it might have looked like a man being pestered by some glowing yellow hummingbird.  

She blasted his face again, and when he tried to reshape it from the remaining rock, she kept blasting it.    At the same time, she focused on his legs, damaging them enough that he had trouble staying upright.    

"You can't defeat him!" Aonorry cried out.   The unfettered joy in her voice made Luffa sick, but she pressed on in spite of it.    He's become one with the very earth itself!   You would have to destroy the entire planet, and you still wouldn't win!"  

"She's right, you know," Rehval boasted.   "I'm not actually here, as I said before.   You need the atmosphere to breathe, but I don't.    And as long as the planet is in tact--"

Luffa finally put enough cracks in his body that it crumbled into pieces.   A short distance away, she could already hear another rock-body assembling itself.  

"He rises!" Aonorry wailed.   "His glory rises, now and forever!"

"As I was saying," Rehval said as his third body sprouted its new mouth.   "As long as the planet is in tact, I can fight you like this indefinitely."

"Gosh, I'd better surrender then," Luffa grumbled.    "Is that what you want me to say?"

"Actually, no," Rehval said.    He clenched his fists, and suddenly a ball of violet light appeared in front of his rocky chest.    Before Luffa could dodge, he unleashed its power in her direction, and she had to catch the front of the energy wave in her hands.    

"Our confrontation on Pflaume was an experiment, Luffa," Rehval explained while she struggled to hold back the blast.   "I thought that if I stranded you on an ice giant, you would be neutralized completely.   No air to breathe, no surface to stand upon, no ships to rescue you.     That last one was the flaw in my plan.   I was sure your wife would abandon you, but not so."

Luffa was pushed back by the energy beam until she felt her boots press into the ground.   This gave her something to brace against for support, but it also reminded her that she had very little margin for error.   She set her jaw and screwed her eyes shut as she summoned up more power to halt the beam's advance.

"I had to evacuate Planet Saiya," Rehval went on.   "I knew that if you escaped Pflaume, the planet would never survive your counterattack.   Fortunately, I had a redoubt prepared on a planet in a secret location, just in case of emergency.   And while I was there, it occurred to me how dependent I am on planets and atmospheres.   So are you, but you can just fly from place to place in your ship, like a mercenary.    Very romantic, but a king needs a kingdom, and a kingdom needs earth to stand upon."

Luffa finally mustered the strength to deflect the attack, and with a mighty yell, she flung it up into the sky, where it exploded harmlessly in the upper atmosphere.    But this left her wide open to a punch from the rock creature that spoke with Rehval's voice.    The impact cratered the ground, and the Rehval-monster ground his fist into the center, like a child killing a beetle.  

"A foundation, Luffa," he continued.    "Without a solid rock to build upon, the builder is helpless.   That was when I realized the error in my thinking.    On Pflaume, I left you to fall into sinking sand, when what I needed to be doing was securing myself upon a solid rock.   That realization led me to realize how much we owe the ground beneath us, and how powerful it truly is.    I knew that if I made that power my own,  I could defeat anyone, even the Legendary Super Saiyan."

Nearby, Aonorry was chanting some a prayer in support of Trismegistus.     The earthen creature smiled as it sensed a victory, and then a tremendous explosion went off at his fist.   The giant figure toppled backwards, and when Rehval looked at his arm, it was simply... gone.

Luffa emerged from the smoke of the blast, already preparing her next move.   "Rehval," she said.   "You talk too much."    

What followed was a rapid-fire barrage.   Dozens of golden blobs of energy launched out of Luffa's fingertips, and embedded themselves onto Rehval's avatar.   He expected them to explode on contact, but instead, she swung her left hand upward, and he found himself being dragged upwards.     The ki she had affixed to his body was pulling him into the air.

"I don't know how you pulled this off, Rehval," Luffa said, "but I'm curious to see what your limits are with this monster body you've got.    "Can you attack me with two of them at once?   Because so far I've only seen you make a new body after the old one gets wrecked."

"Your... nnf!   Your overconfidence is your weakness," Rehval said as he struggled against the force pulling him towards the sky.

"Look who's talking," Luffa replied.    "You sprang this trap and gloated about it the whole time you were fighting, and where's it gotten you?   You probably never even considered that I was studying your power the entire time, did you?"

He managed to spin around and point his remaining arm at Luffa, but she  squeezed her hand into a fist, and the energy blobs on that arm suddenly exploded, blasting it into dust.  

"What now?" she asked.    "You've got to make a new body now, since you can't do much with that one."

"You underestimate me... Luffa!" Rehval said.   His body began to shift and reshape itself, until it finally sprouted a new pair of arms.   But unlike before, this caused the main body to become smaller than it had been before.

Luffa responded by squeezing her fist again, and blasting off his legs.   The remainder of his body began to fall, but she caught it by enveloping the bulk of his form in a sheath of golden light.    

"I think I'm getting the idea," Luffa said.   "You can't absorb more mass unless you're in direct contact with the planet.    And cutting off an arm or a leg doesn't help you, because those pieces aren't 'alive' on their own, so much as they're controlled by the main body.   Or maybe just the head. "

"Well done, Luffa," Rehval said.   "You're as magnificent as ever, and just as dangerous.    I can still use you in my plans, but I can't afford to trust you, not after you spurned my offer before."  

"Trust?   Trust?!" Luffa shouted.   "You honorless jackal!  You don't even know the meaning of the word!   Using that idiot Aonorry as your pawn!   Sending this... this proxy to fight me in your place!   When I find you--the real you-- I'll--"

Her threat was suddenly cut off by Aonorry herself, who had managed to sneak up on Luffa while she was busy restraining Rehval in midair.   The point of her short spear nearly connected with Luffa's neck, but she sensed her approach just in the nick of time, and caught her in a choke hold.    

"Your 'master' is more desperate than I thought," Luffa snarled.    Without hesitation, she broke Aonorry's neck to prevent any further distractions.   But in the moment it took her to do this, Rehval built up his power again, and this time turned it in on himself.    Before Luffa could react, before Aonorry's corpse could even fall to the surface, his rock-body exploded in midair, and only moments later, a new rock-Rehval was rising up from the ground.    

"You killed my prophetess," Rehval said, sounding only mildly annoyed.   "I'll miss her."

"This game is getting tiresome, Rehval," Luffa said.   "I've already figured out how to defeat you, so unless this next body can do something new, there's really no point in going on."

"You may be powerful, Luffa," Rehval said, "but you still think like a low-level mercenary.    Do you think one battlefield means anything to me?   I'm not even here.   I could destroy this entire planet right now, and lose nothing.    But I won't do that, because I have loftier goals in mind.    I mean to change the universe, and that won't be achieved through mere destruction.   Hexill VI has a place in my kingdom, like all worlds."

Luffa dove down and attacked one of Rehval's legs.    As he swung his arms to catch her, she dodged and attacked those as well.    But since he was touching the ground, he was able to repair this damage easily.    

"Think about it, Luffa," he continued.    "If I can send my avatar here, across hundreds of light years, then I can do the same on any number of planets.    Without warning, a graven image of me rises up from the ground, powerful enough  to defeat almost anything, powerful enough to impose my will, or destroy the planet entirely.   And by the time you arrive in your ship to stop me, I'm already gone."

Luffa formed a razor-thin disc of ki and launched it at the neck of Rehval.   It only carved a small section away, but when she followed up with a Gallick Gun, this was enough to blast the head off of the body.   She then snared it in an energy sheath and pulled it up into the sky.    Below, the headless body didn't move.    Luffa fired another ki blast to destroy it, but never stopped her flight.    

"You think you can sever my connection to the planet with distance, is that it?" Rehval asked.    "Well, so what if you can?    I only chose Hexill VI to make a point, Luffa.   I wanted you to see exactly what I can do.    What I've become."  

"Tell me where you're hiding, Rehval," Luffa said.   "I'll only ask you once."

"And why should I tell you that?" Rehval asked.    

"Because I'm going to kill you either way," she said.   "Painfully, if I can.    You're going to die, but if you tell me where to find you, I can get it over with.    Save you some sleepless nights."

"That's very kind of you," Rehval said.   "But no.   Come and find me, if you can.  I'll be waiting.   And if you can't find me, don't worry.   You'll be hearing from me sooner than you think."

Luffa suddenly raised her arms, and with a loud grunt, she swung the net of energy around the head, flinging it up into space.    She watched it shrink into the distance, then flew back down to the ground to make certain Rehval had not rebuilt his avatar.   She only found the broken remains of the last body that she had decapitated.   She incinerated it with a  ki blast.    Satisfied that her business here was concluded, she flew back to inform the planet's leaders about what had happened.  

*******

An hour later, Luffa was sitting in the cockpit of the light cruiser she had borrowed from the Federation Starfleet to get here.    She had orbited the planet a few times, just in case there was any chance of Rehval somehow returning, but at last she decided it was safe to depart.    She would have to contact the Federation and alert them of the situation, but first she removed her boot and examined the injury on her left foot.   Dr. Topsas had treated the wound days ago, but it would take some time to heal properly, and she was doing it no favors by constantly heading out into battle.   Somewhat painfully, she applied an ointment he had given her.    It was supposed to help promote healing and prevent infection, but at times she thought it hurt worse than the attack that had made the wound in the first place.    

She was weary, not so much from her wounds or physical exhaustion, but from the lack of a decisive victory.   Up to now, this had been a war of attrition, and Luffa's hope was that if she steadily chipped away at the lackeys, it would force the leaders out of hiding.    But if Rehval could strike remotely, with no risk to his own person, then... what?

Luffa leaned back the pilot's chair as far as it would go and began rubbing her temples.    There was a solution to this puzzle--there always was-- but she was too frustrated to find it.    For now, the best she could do was to report in with her allies, set the ship to autopilot, and take a nap during the flight home.   With any luck, the next cultist attack would be on the opposite side of the Federation, giving her more time to rest--

Then she saw the red light blinking on the comm system, and she realized that someone was trying to contact her.   Some small part of her wanted to ignore the light, to pretend she hadn't seen it, but she cursed that part of herself and opened the channel just to spite her own weakness.    

There was no audio or video, just a text message that had been encrypted with a code used by the Saiyan Free Company, led by Princess Seltiss.   The girl had formed the company to fill the power vacuum left behind when her father had disappeared, and she had allied herself with the Federation because she saw Trismegistus and his cult as a threat to Saiyan-kind.   As Luffa entered her password to decrypt the code, she wondered how the princess would react to the news that Rehval and Trismegistus were the same man.    

Those thoughts vanished as Luffa read the message: "ALL AVAILABLE FORCES TO FEDENDER SYSTEM.   URGENT.    SURPRISE ATTACK.   ENEMY STRENGTH UNKNOWN.   UNIDENTIFIED ALIEN COMBATANTS LED BY A LARGE CREATURE MADE OF ROCK.   EOM."

The terse statement was like a punch to Luffa's gut.    She had just rescued the Fedender System before rushing off to help Hexill, and Fedender was already under attack again?     And Rehval... he had told Luffa that she would hear from him sooner than she expected.    

"Well, that's a first, you miserable bastard," Luffa seethed as she set course for Fedender.    "You actually told the truth for once."

NEXT: Doublethink