OH MY GOD THEY'RE GOING TO LET ME HAVE A FUCKING PHYSICAL COPY WITH SPECIAL FEATURES

I am going to hit that fucking ADD TO CART so fast.

You're My Home Too | Loki Laufeyson

Hey lovelies happy Saturday! I hope you all have had a lovely day! Here is the first Loki "drabble" of the event, please do enjoy and make sure to take care of yourselves today!

Appetizers (Tags): Angst, Fluff

Entres (Pairing): Loki x F!Reader (third person)

Sides (Prompts): 6: “You’re all I have.” “You’re all I have too, you know?”

Notes: None, Requested by Anon

Word Count: 2.2k

Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List

She watches as the black haired god tilts his head, eyes locked on his brother. It looks like he’s nodding along, agreeing to something Thor has said, but she can see it— the way his pupils dart across the blonde’s face, flitting over his shoulder before returning, latching on a different spot. It’s unnerving to watch him be so docile. So passive— not at all like the usual, fiery tempered, grinning god of mischief. She’s never seen him look so blank. Something’s definitely wrong.

She has a feeling she knows what it is, too. If she’s right then it’s the same reason she laid awake all night, curled on her side of Loki’s bed, listening to the sound of his steady breathing until the sun came up. She can practically hear the conversation— Thor’s been itching to go home for weeks now. Somehow they’ve always managed to get held up each time— saving the world and what not. Now, though, there’s nothing keeping them. No androids or aliens or wizards. Just her— the best friend— and that’s not going to cut it.

Loki’s eyes flick to hers, blue irises somehow vibrant even from across the room, and she forces the corners of her lips to turn up, an attempt at flaking off the frown that she’s sure has been plastered on her face all morning. If his frown is anything to go by, however, then she would say that it doesn’t work out. Oh well— she didn’t really expect it would.

He can sense lies and even if he couldn’t he would still be able to read her like a book. Half the time it feels like he’s more in her head then she is, always figuring out what she wants before she can think it let alone say it aloud. Usually that’s followed by him dropping whatever he’s doing to get it for her. Unless, of course, it’s a hug— then he’s dropping whatever he’s doing and pulling her into his arms.

Who’s going to hug her if he’s a galaxy away?

Is it even a galaxy? Surely it’s more. A dimension away. Her stomach tosses, the sting in her chest mixing with a wave of the nausea she’s been fighting all morning. A combination of not eating— not being hungry enough to eat— and sadness. No not sadness— grief. Sadness feels easier. It’s waving your best friend off to college— not to another fucking world. This isn’t sadness— this is losing everything she has come to need for an entire year. Warmth and protection and his sea-salt skin and elegant voice. Who else is going to speak so gently to her when he’s gone?

“Dove—” she blinks and he’s suddenly there, kneeling on the floor in front of the couch where she's been sitting for the past hour, legs curled under her and all the way numb— “what’s wrong?”

His dark brows crease together, his hand snaking from his side and reaching for hers. She offers him another pathetic half-smile, tangling her fingers with his long ones and shaking her head slightly. “Nothing, Loki. How’d your talk go?”

She doesn’t miss the way he winces. He tries to hide it, replicating her tilted lips with his own, but, like her, his eyes don’t follow suit. Instead they flash with something that looks too much like dread for her to keep her act up. When her mouth creases into a frown, so does his. It’s all she needs to know— he really is leaving her.

“My brother misses home.” The god reaches out his other hand and— like everything they seem to do— she copies him, meeting him halfway and lacing those fingers together as well. He runs his thumb over hers, his blue eyes intense— worried. “There are a few things we have to sort out. They’re getting impatient.”

They’re. That could mean so many things. It could mean his people— the asgardians. It could mean his family— it definitely means Thor, the god who she can hear pacing from the kitchen. Her eyes pool over the features of the man in front of her, landing on the circles under his eyes. Does it mean him too? Has she been keeping him from going home? The thought makes her throat sting— of course she has. She’s been so stupid, clinging to a literal god. Of course he would have to go home at some point. She was only fooling herself thinking he would stay with her. What’s upstate New York when you have a celestial castle or whatever the hell it is he has?

“Dove?”

She blinks again, zoning back into his even more concerned stare— shit.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, squeezing his hands if only to ground herself against slipping away again. “That sounds important. Your, uh, your kingdom needs you.”

I need you too, though.

It feels like her heart is lodged in her throat and that she’s speaking around it. When she swallows it doesn’t go away— if anything it grows, tears stinging at her eyes, threatening to fall. She hates how selfish she feels. He doesn’t belong to her— he doesn’t belong with her— and she should feel lucky to have called him her friend for this long. Still she can’t help but wonder what her days will look like without him. Empty. Boring. Terrifying. She has friends here but it isn’t the same. The connection isn’t the same— the warmth and smiles and laughter aren’t the same.

She isn’t just losing her best friend, she’s losing her home.

And she breaks.

And he notices.

God, he always notices.

She supposes with the tears now streaming down her face, though, that she can’t exactly blame him for that one. It’s a little noticeable. What she will blame him for is how he releases her hands, instead rising to his full height and settling on the couch, angling his lithe body towards her and wrapping his arms around her stomach. He waits— one beat, two beats— for her to turn as well, pushing up on her knees and throwing her arms around his shoulders. She holds him tight— tighter than she can confidently say she has ever held him before. She has to— it’ll very likely be the last chance she gets. She has to memorize it— him.

“I’m sorry,” she laughs bitterly. It’s more of a sob— the kind that catches in her throat, getting stuck between silent and booming. “I’m being silly.”

Loki shakes his head— she can’t see it but she can feel his jaw brushing her hair, his hands pushing her closer to his chest. She digs her fingers into his jumper, scrunching the green wool like somehow it’ll make this all okay. His hand runs up her back, curling it around the nape of her neck, hand cool and soft.

“No you aren’t.” He murmurs, face still pressed against her hair, and she fights back more tears— he’s too gentle with her.

She doesn’t say anything right away, she just sinks against him, biting her lip and forcing herself to just be in the moment. He smells like rain today. It’s always different— always changing— but today he smells like the summer pavement before a three day thunderstorm hits and it feels fitting.

After a few moments she finally pulls away, tugging against his hold and running the heel of her hand under her eyes. He doesn’t give her much leave, only a few inches to be able to look up at him, blinking away the blurriness of her glassy eyes and sniffling. His lips are pressed together, his head tilted again. Unlike with his brother, though, his eyes never stray from hers. As always, it makes her breath catch in her throat, her heart racing in the way only he can seem to do.

She finally brings herself to ask the hard question— the one that’s been hanging around them for weeks. “When are you leaving?”

His fingers on her spine tense— that can’t mean anything good.

“Today, dove.”

“Oh.”

She doesn’t know what else to say— that and if she says anything more she’s afraid she might start sobbing again. Sobbing or just stop breathing altogether. Today? She couldn’t have had one more night with him? You’ve already had ‘one more night’ for four weeks, the little voice in her head reminds her. It’s time to let him go. She slips her hands around his arms— easier said than done. She knows that once he leaves her life will change— and it might never go back to normal.

Loki’s eyes flash, the blue darkening, a crease forming between his brows. He opens his mouth but no words come out and soon he’s pressing his lips together again, the dejection in his eyes and aura tangible. She has to say something— she can’t leave it on this note. She just has no idea what to say. No idea how to say goodbye.

So she doesn’t.

“You should probably start packing then, yeah?” She pushes her lips into the tortured smile again, muttering the words.

She’s sure he would have forced himself to laugh—

“I want you to come with me.”

— were it not for him speaking at the same time.

Her heart stops when his words flit past her eardrums. “What?”

She must be dreaming— there’s no way he just said what she thinks he said. It has to be her imagination playing a cruel trick on her. Trying to protect her from the pain until the last second. But no, that’s not right, now when his cool hands move from her back to her cheeks, his thumbs running over her cheekbones and drawing her back to him. He leans down, pressing his forehead against hers and she gasps— she can’t help it. His skin is so soft that her eyes flutter close.

“I said I want you to come home with me, dove.” His nose brushes against hers, his words entirely soft.

She’s speechless— completely and utterly floored. “To Asgard?”

He chuckles, minty breath fanning her lips. “Yes, to Asgard.”

She pulls back, head so fuzzy she almost topples over from the motion, hands curling tighter to keep from falling. He really wants her to go home with him? Just like that her heart starts beating again, kicking starting her pulse which begins hammering as the notion of staying with him starts to become clear. He’s not leaving?

“But—” she stammers, blinking rapidly as she tries to form a coherent thought— “why me?”

For a moment he just looks at her, his brows knitting together once more, his eyes filling with something she can’t decipher. He kind of looks confused. Only she could confuse a god. She almost slaps herself, her pulse thrumming in her ears. Why the heck would you ask him that you idiot? Now he’s not gonna’ want to take you with—

“Because you’re all I have.”

He says it so nonchalantly— like it’s a fact and not a confession that makes her very essence roar. She supposes that to him it is just a fact. That when you’re all powerful speaking your mind is normal. It is just a fact and she is just a girl and he is just a god. Fact, fact, facts. Her head spins. This— he— cannot be real.

“I—” That’s as far as she gets before her sentence drops, mouth gaping but empty.

Thankfully he picks it up, continuing his unconcerned profession.

“It’s not home if you’re not with me, my little midgardian. Not anymore.” He shrugs and she almost chokes— how is he saying this so calmly when she feels like she’s going to combust? “I really think you’d like it, actually. It’s very pretty— lots of gardens. Oh, and the library! You would enjoy the library.” He tilts his head, his eyes fading out slightly as he thinks about his home. “I’m sure there will be a ball of some sort when we arrive home. I know, I know— you don’t like big events but—”

This time she’s the one who places her hands on his cheeks, shaking her head, letting the first euphoric giggle out. “Of course I’ll go, Loki.”

A grin spreads across his lips, his eyes widening like he just won the lottery as he leans forward, connecting them once again. It makes her heart jump in her chest. What did he think she was going to say? No? She giggles when his lips press against her cheek, her nose scrunching. He must notice because his mouth curves even more against her skin. Soon his lips aren’t just on her cheek but on her forehead and chin and nose as well.

“Even if we have to go to a ball?” He teases, his voice lighter than she’s heard it in weeks.

“Even then.” She confirms, fingers gliding into his hair and tangling them in the silky strands. She takes a deep breath, nerves thrumming as she adds softly. “You’re all I have too, you know? You’re my home too.”

Loki hums happily against her skin, taking her own confession the same way he had made his own— easily. It’s the best outcome she could have hoped for. She can’t wipe the wide smile from her lips as he wraps his arms properly around her once more. It’s not long before his lips find her ear, soft words echoing against her skin.

“You should probably start packing then, yeah?”

The Sacrifice of Lila Rossi

Cyberpunk Mafia AU:

The small Medbay of The Garden had always been cramped, but ruthlessly organized to be the most efficient center for treatment in the city. Max, despite being someone that cared vary little for the acclaim and praise of others found joy in knowing that if he was known for anything, it was how well he could help people, especially since he was so often without the best methods to tackle a problem. He’ll often claim that when there are a thousand and one ways to use a paperclip, he could do the impossible with whatever he had on hand, he just wishes the universe didn’t actively try to test that theory…

In a rush a panic the crew of The Garden wheeled in a stasis pod, the contents of which was one Aurore frozen in a single moment within the chamber. Her eyes were wide in a mixture of fear and panic, several small burns littered her skin, a sign of far too many close calls at the wrong end of a plasma rifle, but the most prominent injury was the practical crater where her heart should have been the deep red of blood already overpowered the light blues of her usual attire well before she could make it into stasis.

“Alright I need a full report of the incident, no detail is too small.” Max rattled off to the panicked crew, already descending into his cocoon of holoscreens, processing information far faster than any normal human could. “Markov, activate ALL emergency protocols, I want to be prepared for the slightest hiccup.”

“Affirmative” a monotone synthetic voice rang out in the laboratory as several pieces of advanced equipment sprang to life.

“Please Doctor, you have to help her.” Sabrina begged as she refused to leave the side of pod. “I can’t just get my emotions back just to hurt like this. Please…”

“It’ll be ok Sabrina. Max is the best at what he does. Just let him do his thing” replied Rose who gently guided her away from the pod and into the arms of Chloe who hugged the girl with everything she could. “Alya, if you want your friend to get better, I suggest you answer his questions.”

“R-right” said Alya, snapping her attention from the pod, her whole body still shaking. “It was a mark III plasma rifle, like a really modified, really illegal model. We were so close to getting tangible proof that Argeste Industries was running corrupt experiments for the Mayor, we could finally put an end to the missing person posters…  but there was this huge gorilla looking dude that attacked us. He looked like he was being mind controlled since his eyes were blank. He decked me and sent me flying into a wall. He was about to blast me point blank when Aurore blocked the shot with her umbrella. The blast tore right through it and got her in the heart. Thankfully, the broken umbrella made some kind of flashbang so I used a stasis capsule to try and stop the bleeding and got us here as fast as I could. She… She saved my life…” she took a moment to compose herself, trying to ground herself in the present. “I… I have the footage. Here.” Placing her palm on a terminal, a copy of the footage began playing on one of Max’s screens.

“Looks like you’ve found Gordan Rillan,” said Max. “He was a dock worker that used to work at the pier before the mayor allowed a competitor to take the whole thing over and put Gordan in serious debt. Argeste industries offered him a position and then he was reported missing shortly after. Scans seem to show he’s suffered an even more advanced version of whatever the hell they did to Kim… As for the blaster well, its partially radioactive and goes against several international laws. Her heart can’t be salvaged. The stasis prevented the spread of radiation but… there’s no fixing this without an outright replacement.”

“Please there has to be something!” Sabrina begged. What if I gave her my heart, I can survive being shut down for a while and we can fix me up later.”

 “Unfortunately, since she doesn’t have a single interface, I can’t implant an artificial replacement. By the time I’ve put in the tech needed for a mechanical heart to work she’d already be gone. Unless we manage to find an organic option, and soon, I can’t do more than this and the stasis won’t hold forever.”

“Max.” everyone’s attention was brought to the main terminal which was glowing a bright pinkish orange, Lila’s true avatar on the screen. “What about project phoenix. I looked at the stats. They’re a match.”

“Lila… you do realize what you’re asking right?” Max asked, concern heavy in his voice.

“I do.”

“Alright…” inputting a few commands from his chair, a storage compartment opened up revealing a similar pod, only this one housed the same girl on the screen.

“Is that-” Alya began but couldn’t bring herself to finish.

“Yeah, it is.” Lila replied as she seemed to stare sadly at her own corpse. “when Gabriel, did what he did… he sold my body on the black market. Me and Max managed to find it before it was cut up, but the damage to the brain was too much. Max has been trying to hide that bit of info from me, maybe even try to lie to himself, but I already know the truth. I’m not coming back, at least not this way.” Her attention drifted to Sabrina who was beginning to understand the implications of what was about to happen. “The old me, the one long dead in that pod, she never once went out of her way for someone else, she never really could. She spent every day living by lying through her teeth. Other people were either targets or threats.”

“Sounds like a pretty lonely way to live…” commented Rose with sad compassion, remembering some of the patrons she couldn’t manage to save over the years.

“It was” replied Lila, a hollow chuckle punctuating her point. “It wasn’t until I ‘died’ that I finally found out that sometimes… people aren’t so bad. I somehow got myself a little brother in desperate need of my street smarts, but with a heart of absolute gold, and a Mom in desperate need of a vacation, but who actually looks at me, the absolute mess of a girl, and saw a daughter she actually said she was proud of… Heck if Clara keeps it up I might even have a second mom in the works.” There were some distortions to her avatar and you could swear they looked like tears. “and now that I know what it feels like to care about someone, I’m not about to let you lose the one you care about. Besides, we still need ‘Chameleon’ right now if we’re going to set things right after this.”

“Thank you so much Lila,” Sabrina replied, she reached a hand out to the terminal and her hand glowed ever so slightly the same color. It wasn’t a perfect touch, but Lila could feel the hand all the same, and Sabrina could the slightest sensation of someone grasping it.

“Lila,” Max caught her attention, “the promise still stands, I WILL bring you back one day.”

“I know you will Max. I’ll be looking forward to it. But for now we have a life to save, and the girl I once was deserves to do at least one good deed before she’s retired.” ———

Oh shit-

Well- damn Lila

Now that’s a fucking redemption arc holy shit

Thank you. That was fucking amazing.

I feel so bad for Aurore- what a trooper though- bitch got her heart exploded and she’s fucking fine

God dang

Poor Lila too—Holy shit I made her suffer in this au. Chameleon baby needs a break. Her accidentally becoming Adrien’s sister is really cute. I’m proud of her development, I hope I give her a happy ending.

Max and Lila being bro’s is lovely and fun. They’re too smart for their own good. This was amazing, thank you so much for this, I’m glad you guys like this au, I know I do.

Terms and Conditions May Apply

Summary: As if being presented as the wife of the Antichrist to the most influential people in the world at an exclusive event wasn't enough for you to handle, Satan may have a special surprise in store for you as well.

Word Count: 3548

A/N: I have no excuse for not having updated for a month other than the fact that my senior thesis has taken up basically ALL of my time. Special thanks to @trelaney​ for all of your help on this (and every) chapter of Mad Love! Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated. Enjoy!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 

The night after your first day of classes, Michael utters the words that you were hoping never to hear. It had been such a nice evening, too. You had finally worn Michael down enough about cooking that he agreed to let you cook dinner for an evening. It was just a simple meal, pasta and marinara that your dad used to always make, but it was familiar, and made you feel at home in a way you hadn’t yet while living at “Langdon Manor,” as you call it. Ending up on the couch with Michael, your head in his lap as he reads some business papers and strokes your hair, smiling every time you laugh at the videos on your phone (you’re saving Michael’s introduction to Vine and TikTok for another day), was the perfect way to end the night. Of course, he had to ruin it by opening his mouth.

“I think it’s time for you to attend an official Cooperative function with me,” Michael says. You look up at him in horror, of which he can’t quite tell is real or fake.

“Michael!” you groan, sitting up so you’re level with him.

“(Y/N)!” he mocks, refusing to back down. “We’ve been married for, what, seven months now?”

“Nearly eight,” you remark dryly.

“Over half of a year. And in the time of our marriage, you’ve never once met with the Cooperative. You haven’t engaged with my father’s congregation since our wedding.” Michael sees the look on your face as you prepare to make a snarky comment about the congregation, so he hurries to make his next point. “These are necessary duties that you, as the wife of the Antichrist, must undertake. Need I remind you of our ‘contract?’ You had agreed to attend Cooperative functions and meetings with me. That time, my love, has come.”

You bristle at the pet name (no matter how long you’ll be married to Michael, you’ll never come to be a fan of them), but ignore it for now. “I don’t want to do it.”

“I understand that. I don’t want to either, but it’s something that we both must do.”

“What do you mean, you ‘don’t want to do it?’ Being worshipped by these people and commanding a room aren’t things you enjoy?”

“It’s a part of the title my father bestowed upon me. There is...a certain beauty to being the one prophesied in ancient times, but the blind devotion that a lot of these influential members of society who have sold their souls in order to gain power is disgusting, in a way. I don’t quite enjoy having them fawn over me in the hopes that I’ll grant them favors of some kind.”

“So then why do you go to these events if you don’t like them?”

“It gives my father’s followers something tangible to worship. In a way, my existence lets them know that selling their souls was not in vain. I am proof that my father’s plans are coming to fruition.” Michael tentatively reaches his hand out, slowly grabbing yours when you don’t pull away. “So? Will you come?”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“I’m afraid not, but I figured I should at least ask you.” “Fine, but I don’t want to wear black to this thing. Or red. I want to be me, not the wife of the Antichrist.”

“You’re both, but I think we can work something out. The color scheme isn’t a requirement, merely...a suggestion.”

“A suggestion you make sure to enforce.” Standing up from the couch, your face softens slightly at the hurt look on Michael’s face. “I’m not mad, I’ve just gotta get some syllabus tests out of the way before I forget about them.”

“Don’t make plans for Friday, okay?” You nod, Michael kissing your hand before letting you leave for your room, where you proceed to sulk about having to go to a Satanist party while watching Netflix. 

//

Friday arrives, much to your displeasure, bringing with it an army of stylists that the Cooperative has at its disposal. You somehow manage to stop them when they attempt to do your makeup heavily, conceding only to a semi-prominent eyeshadow look and lipstick. The dark pink, almost red shade goes with the one dress you didn’t automatically veto, a silky, emerald A-line dress with spaghetti straps that cinched at your waist before falling down to your ankles. The hairstylist, a man with platinum hair and the attitude to pull it off, had decided to leave your hair down after you had nearly yelled at him for trying some fancy updo. Looking in the mirror after they’ve forced you into a pair of heels, you have to admit that you do look pretty nice. It’s not a look that you would ever come up with yourself, but it suits you well.

Although Michael would never rush you, you’re sure he’s been waiting for a few minutes now. While his hair is always better than yours, his Antichrist powers probably provide him some extra minutes when it comes to getting ready. The stylists give you one last check before deeming you good to go, placing a clutch in your hands and ushering you out of your bedroom. 

Michael’s waiting patiently in the foyer, idly checking his phone until he hears movement from the floor above. Pocketing the device, he glances up the stairs only for his eyes to widen as he fights to keep his jaw from dropping. You descend the stairs looking every bit the goddess he’s known you to be since the moment he laid eyes on you, and you smile shyly at his awed expression.

“Did they screw up that bad?” you joke, desperate to break him out of his stupor.

“No, you’re...stunning, (Y/N). Words could not possibly express just how beautiful you are.”

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment, and you gaze up at the ceiling to avoid looking him in the eyes. “Didn’t know you could be a sweet talker, Michael. Thanks. You clean up well yourself.”

He looks down at his outfit as if just now realizing he’s dressed. “I pale in comparison next to you.”

Considering he’s wearing a designer cloak and suit, you doubt that. Michael holds his arm out for you and you gratefully take it, ankles feeling weak from the heels that you’re in. Of course the Antichrist wouldn’t be rolling up to an event dedicated to him and his father in a car he’s driving, so the chauffeured vehicle is not a surprise.

Michael does an excellent job at distracting you on the drive to the classified location where the gala/event/rich people benefit will be held. Between playing you at 8 Ball on your phones--a game that he’s getting surprisingly good at--and debating you on the nuances of selling a person’s soul, you don’t realize you’ve arrived until the car comes to a stop. 

“Just a moment,” Michael says to the driver, who puts the car in park and exits the vehicle, presumably so you and Michael can be alone. “Before we go in, there’s a few things you need to be aware of.”

“Please tell me there’s not going to be a human sacrifice in there,” you mutter.

“No sacrifices, I promise. I’ll handle most of the talking, but you might get a few questions from some curious members. Feel free to answer them if you would like, and if I deem their questions to be appropriate.”

“And if I don’t want to talk to them?”

“Just squeeze my hand and I’ll get rid of them.” Your eyes widen, and Michael chuckles before shaking his head. “Not like that, I’ll just tell them that they should enjoy the evening.” 

“Anything else?”

“Cooperative members like to be very secretive about everything. Many who will be attending tonight are fine with fellow members knowing their identities, but some may be wearing masks. Don’t be alarmed at that, but definitely don’t ask them who they are.”

“Alright,” you smile. “I think I can handle that.”

“Oh, and don’t smile.”

“Don’t...smile?”

“While I love your smile, everyone here is beneath you. They’re not our friends, or people who deserve our kindness. Unless I smile, please try not to act friendly.”

“O--okay.” You’re less sure of yourself now, and it obviously shows as Michael takes your hand.

“Hey, you’re going to do great.”

“And if I don’t?”

Michael shakes his head. “Impossible. Are you ready?”

“No, but let’s go.” The door of the car swings open, the chauffeur innately knowing when Michael’s ready. He climbs out ahead of you and helps you out, making sure you’re not going to trip over your own feet before he lets go of your waist.

You grab his arm tightly as he leads you inside of what looks like some lavish country club. Two stoic guards stand on either side of the main entrance, staring straight ahead like you’re walking into Buckingham Palace. It’s difficult to hide your shock when you see the petite figure of Ms. Mead standing in the entryway, dark lips turned up in a smile.

“Ms. Mead,” Michael greets, kissing the woman who’s like his mother on the cheek.

She smiles, patting his face lovingly. “My sweet boy,” she says before turning to you, “and you look lovely as well, (Y/N).”

“Um, thank you?” You’re a little apprehensive, considering the last time you saw her, she stuck a needle in your neck.

“They’re ready to begin, Michael.” He nods, giving Ms. Mead one last smile before moving away with you.

“She didn’t seem to be nearly as angry as she usually is,” you note.

“She probably needs a new upgrade.” At your bewildered look, Michael elaborates. “The real Ms. Mead was taken from me by some enemies who believed that killing her would give them the chance to ‘convert’ me to good. The Ms. Mead you see today, and that you saw the night of our wedding, is an AI copy.”

“Holy shit, she’s a robot?”

Michael cringes at the term, but nods. “Yes, basically.”

A flurry of activity signifies that the Cooperative is ready for the son of their Lord to make his grand entrance. Michael looks you over once more, waiting until he’s absolutely sure that you’re ready to face his followers before he nods once to signal that you’re both ready. The voices that fill the room spill out once the doors are opened, Michael giving you hardly a moment to get nervous before walking in with you.

The voices fall silent when the doors open, eyes cast eagerly to Michael and, by extension, you. There’s two long tables that stretch the length of the room, chairs on either side of each one. A smaller table sits raised on a platform at the other end of the room, just big enough for two ornate chairs. Michael squeezes your hand, providing a much-needed grounding tool as you try not to look like your eyes are darting around the room. 

Michael was right about some of the Cooperative members; their silver masks reflect the light of the room off of the surface, their entire faces obscured from view. Some of the members who decide not to mask their identity are not surprising to see here (you’re pretty sure you would have been more surprised if Donald Trump wasn’t a member of the Cooperative), but others make you internally squeal from excitement. Although Jared Leto’s always seemed like an intense guy, you didn’t think he was the type of person to have sold his soul to the Devil. 

The room remains standing until you and Michael have taken your places at the table in front of everyone. Even after they sit, Michael’s firm hand keeps you from taking a seat. If he’s standing, you guess you’re standing as well. 

To anybody watching from afar, Michael’s face is unreadable. Having spent so much time with him, however, you watch as something akin to a mask descends across his features. The Michael that you know--awkward, easily excited, and passionate to a fault--is gone, replaced by someone distant, perpetually angry, who knows for a fact that everyone here is beneath him. 

“Welcome, esteemed members of the Cooperative. We are gathered here tonight at the request of my father, who wishes for me to convey to you his plans as we move ever closer to our end goal. As many of you are aware, plans are being drawn up for the Outposts and the Sanctuary, which is where everyone here, along with others who we deem valuable to the continuation of life on Earth, will ride out the end of the world.”

At this, you feel the blood run from your face. Although you’ve known that Michael, as the Antichrist, had plans to end the world on behalf of Satan, it’s jarring to hear him talk about it so plainly. If you’re being honest, you had almost forgotten that the apocalypse was a thing. After getting over being kidnapped to be his bride, you and Michael have become friends. Plus, it’s not as if he talks about Armageddon in front of you. This is the first you’re hearing, in detail, of his plans.

Next to you, Michael is still talking. “--I encourage you all to not worry too much, as we still have a couple of years, at least, until the world can be remade in Satan’s image with the cleansing fire of nuclear bombs. I imagine you may have a few questions. If they are not ignorant, answers you can learn from your colleagues, or flat-out stupid, then please feel free to ask.”

There’s a small murmur from the crowd as Cooperative members converse about the timeline, Michael narrowing his eyes at those in front of him. A couple of people raise their hands, asking questions about fortifications and possible side effects of fallout, which Michael answers effortlessly. It seems as though he’s been prepped on these possible questions, but you wouldn’t be too surprised if this was stuff he just inherently knew.

“Last, before you return to your cocktails and various material pleasures,” Michael squeezes your hand, and you look at him before realizing he wants you to be a part of whatever he’s saying, “my father had revealed to me a woman, who was meant to serve as my consort and stand by my side. Eight months ago, his wish was fulfilled when I married (Y/N), who stands here with me today. Everything else regarding our coupling is none of your goddamn business. Anything else?”

The room is dead silent, everyone being too petrified of their savior to even think of saying anything.

“Wonderful. Please, enjoy the rest of your evening with the bounties that Satan has provided us.” It takes a moment for the room to go back to normal, but you let out a sigh of relief when all of the pairs of eyes are off of you.

“Can we sit down now?” you whisper to Michael, who immediately nods and pulls your chair out for you.

“What did you think?” Michael’s eyes are wide and eager for your approval.

“If I didn’t know you, I would have been terrified of you.”

Michael smiles. “Good, that’s what I was going for.”

“Whoa, is that--” you’re ready to point out two very prominent celebrities doing coke off of each other when Michael shakes his head.

“Remember, these people are beneath you. You can be excited but don’t show it.”

“Fine,” you huff, “but why are people just doing drugs and kissing each other? That seems a little too crazy, even for a room full of Satanist celebrities.”

“Satan preaches giving into any of your desires. Even if it’s material things that only provide fleeting moments of what they believe to be pleasure, my father encourages it. I don’t enjoy watching these activities take place at every single Cooperative meeting, but as long as it doesn’t get out of hand, I don’t put a stop to it.”

There’s so many more questions that you want to ask him about the members of the Cooperative, but a couple of those said members approaching the table to pay their respects to the Antichrist cuts the conversation short. You play the part of the dutiful wife for Michael, greeting his followers and listening to the dull conversations of people starstruck to be in front of their messiah. It’s extremely easy to get overwhelmed in a situation like this, and you seize your chance during a slight lull after nearly an hour of talking to people.

“Michael,” you say gently, “I’m going to go and get some air.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just wanna go outside for a minute and check my phone.” Michael nods, kissing the back of your hand before letting go so that you can stand up. 

The lobby’s much less crowded than the room you just came out of; a few stray Cooperative members linger and wait staff are in and out, but other than that you’re basically alone. You already feel like you can breathe again, a weight being lifted off of your chest now that you’re away from so many curious, intimidating people. Feeling how cold it is outside, you adapt your original plan and choose to sit on one of the benches inside instead.

There’s not much going on this Friday night, you notice as you check your phone. Everybody’s still getting back into the swing of school, and most of your friends opted to stay in and treat themselves instead of going out. You wish you were at home right now, snuggled up in a large blanket with your cat curled up next to you.

(You ignore the thought of Michael being there too, sitting on the other end of the couch and trying to get the cat to sit by him instead of you).

“Drink, ma’am?” Looking up from your phone, you see a waitress smiling and holding a tray with a single drink on it out towards you.

“Oh, I don’t know.” You’re unsure of what to do, Michael not having instructed you on whether you could or couldn’t drink at this event.

“It’s our house special tonight! And as you can see, it’s the last one I have.”

The drink, a red cocktail in a tall glass, does look pretty appealing, and one drink would surely help you to get through the rest of the night. “Mm, might as well! It’s only one drink, and I’m not a lightweight.”

Laughing lightly, the waitress hands you the cocktail. “Enjoy!”

“Thank you!” 

She turns the corner, which means you’re not able to see as her eyes turn pitch black and her body starts convulsing. The waitress collapses to the ground as black smoke pours out of her mouth, ears, and nose, dissipating into the air just as quickly as it left her body. After a moment, the waitress stands back up, looking extremely disoriented as she grabs her tray and unsteadily walks towards the kitchen.

Sniffing the cocktail to make sure you’re not downing something especially disgusting, you’re instead greeted by the pleasant scent of cinnamon and apples. You shrug before taking a hesitant sip, happily finding that the drink tastes just as good as it smells. It’s almost better than any other cocktail you’ve previously tried, and you find yourself thinking that you’ll have to find the waitress and ask her for the name of this cocktail as you continue to consume the addictive drink. You’re enjoying your moment of solitude, sitting on your phone and enjoying a drink, so much that you don’t realize something’s wrong until it’s too late.

 It starts with a slight ache in your head, followed by a ringing in your ears that begins to drown out any background noise. You feel dizzy, and drop your phone so you can place a hand on the bench to steady yourself. Your eyes can’t focus on anything, the walls seeming to morph in front of you as you close your eyes to assuage the nausea.

“Was I drugged?” you mutter to yourself, attempting to stand up but barely straightening your legs before you fall back down to your seat. “Maybe I should find Michael.”

The moment you think of Michael, it’s as if explosions start to rock your brain. You can’t think, and the ringing in your ears reverberates until it’s the only thing you can hear. All of your senses are gone, replaced by the pain of a thousand jackhammers in your head.

The explosions disappear just as quickly as they appeared, leaving you confused and disoriented. Everything feels off, like the world’s tilted before righting itself once more, but overcorrecting in the process. Trying to remember what you were doing before your sudden headache, the only thing you can come up with is Michael.

The name brings a smile to your face as your heart starts to beat quickly. Michael, the love of your life and your other half. What are you doing out here, when he’s in there by himself? You stand to return to him, the entire time not being able to shake the feeling that something’s extremely wrong.

//

Tag List: @ccodyfern​ @sammythankyou​ @girlycakepops​ @ultragibbycentralworld​ @xavierplympton​ @ajokeformur-ray​ @nana15774​ @queencocoakimmie​ @lichellaw​ @grim-adventures58​ @dandycandy75​ @trimbooohgodplsnoooo​ @everything-is-awesomesauce​ @jimmlangdon​ @omgsuperstarg​ @queenie435​ @dextergirl12345​ @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26​ @coloursunlimited​ @kahhlo​ @storminmytwistedmind​ @1-800-bitchcraft​ @langdonslove​ @cuddletothecake​ @born-on-stgeorges-day​ @tcc-gizmachine​ @90sroger​ @gold-dragon-slayer​ @atombombastic​ @lvngdvns​ @nsainmoonchild​ @blakewaterxx​ @yoheyyosup​ @forever1313​ @ladyrindt​ @kaetastic​ @hecohansen31​ @loilko​ @riotsouls666 @lustminaj​ @accio-rogers​ @babyloutattoo89

My D&D 5e Build for Horde Prime

Wow.  Nothing prepared us for Horde Prime.  Noelle warned us that he was a horrible and creepy, but that was putting it lightly.  I’ve been a bit fixated with him, so I decided to try my hand at recreated him for D&D or at close to it as I can get.  

With the ability to control clones and chipped people, Horde Prime has people do the fighting for him.  This build will allow Horde Prime to control and subjugate others to do his bidding while remaining aloft and safe behind allies or clones. 

Long Post Below

                                                  *****STATS*****

Wisdom:  Must be the highest stat since Prime sees all and knows all.  Also, he can see through cat girls’ schemes and determine how to get under Glimmer’s skin.

Intelligence: Second highest.  Was able to clone himself to create an army, created a hive-mind, and technological mind.  

Charm: Third Highest.  Has a gentlemanly manner and is the leader of a cult.

Constitution: Fourth highest.  Able to keep himself alive by draining the life force from his ‘brothers’.

Strength:  Fifth.  We never see Horde Prime use outright violence save for Hordak whom he was able to bodily lift one handed.  

Dexterity: Dump stat.  One could argue he never saw that shot coming, but Hordak did nearly take him out with one blast.

                                                   *****Race*****  

After looking through the list of races, the best race that would suit Horde Prime would be Variant Human. 

Put the extra points into Wisdom and Intelligence.   

Pick Perception to put your proficiency in.  Horde Prime does see all after all. 

And select Observant as a feat.  Adds an additional point to either Wisdom or Intelligence.  You also get a +5 bonus to your passive Wisdom (Perception) and passive Intelligence (Investigation) scores.  On top of this, Horde Prime can read lips as long as he understands the language being spoken.  

Then choose the Acolyte background to give Horde Prime proficiency in Insight and Religion.  

To start things off, we are going to into Cleric.

At 1st Level Clerics receives spells and choose a Divine Domain.

I’m not going to list what spells to choose as it would take up a lot of time and space and the number of spells are determine by the wisdom modifier.  So I’m just going to list a recommendation of spells that I believe would suit Horde Prime’s inclinations and feel in the blanks with attack spells and/or healing spells as you like. 

1st Level Spells Recommendation 

Sanctuary: Protects his clones and chipped people from attack, unless someone succeeds a wisdom saving throw. (Like someone forcing themself to fight a chipped loved one for example).

Bane: any target that fails a charm save, must roll a 1d4 and subtract that number from the total of an attack roll or saving throw.  

Bless: Has the opposite effect. Allies can roll a 1d4 and add that number to the total of an attack or saving throw roll.

For Divine Domain, we are going to go with Order Domain. 

In addition to the spells Horde Prime receives, he gets two more spells.

Command:  You speak a one-word command to a creature you can see within range. The target must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or follow the command on its next turn.

Heroism:  A willing creature you touch is imbued with bravery. Until the spell ends, the creature is immune to being frightened and gains temporary hit points equal to your spellcasting ability modifier at the start of each of its turns.

Also, Horde Prime becomes proficient in Heavy Armor (I guess you could call the parts on his shoulders and finger guards as heavy armor).  Also, Horde Prime gains proficiency bonus in either Intimidate or Persuasion.  Choose Persuasion for this build.  

The Order Domain also gives Horde Prime Voice of Authority:  you can invoke the power of law to drive an ally to attack. If you cast a spell with a spell slot of 1st level or higher and target an ally with the spell, that ally can use their reaction immediately after the spell to make one weapon attack against a creature of your choice that you can see.  

Cleric 2nd Level

Horde Prime is able to use Channel Divinity which he can use to Turn Undead.  With the Order Domain, he can use it for Order's Demand in which each creature of your choice that can see or hear you within 30 feet of you must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or be charmed by you until the end of your next turn or until the charmed creature takes any damage. You can also cause any of the charmed creatures to drop what they are holding when they fail the saving throw.

Cleric 3rd Level

Horde Prime can now use 2nd level spells.  I recommend:

Aid: Your spell bolsters your allies with toughness and resolve. Choose up to three creatures within range. Each target’s hit point maximum and current hit points increase by 5 for the duration.

Calm Emotions:  Each humanoid in a 20-foot-radius sphere centered on a point you choose within range must make a Charisma saving throw; a creature can choose to fail this saving throw if it wishes. If a creature fails its saving throw, choose one of the following two effects. You can suppress any effect causing a target to be charmed or frightened.  Alternatively, you can make a target indifferent about creatures of your choice that it is hostile toward.  

Order Domain also adds two more spells:

Hold Person:  Choose a humanoid that you can see within range. The target must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or be paralyzed for the duration. At the end of each of its turns, the target can make another Wisdom saving throw. On a success, the spell ends on the target. 

Zone of Truth:  You create a magical zone that guards against deception in a 15-foot-radius sphere centered on a point of your choice within range. Until the spell ends, a creature that enters the spell’s area for the first time on a turn or starts its turn there must make a Charisma saving throw. On a failed save, a creature can’t speak a deliberate lie while in the radius. You know whether each creature succeeds or fails on its saving throw. 

Cleric 4th Level

Gain an Ability Score Improvement.  Increase your Wisdom.  You want Horde Prime to get more spells and make them more powerful.  If Wisdom is maxed out, then put the points into Intelligence instead. 

Cleric 5th Level

Horde Prime can potentially Destroy Undead with Channel Divinity.    

Also, he can now use 3rd Level spells.  I recommend:

Sending:  You send a short message of twenty-five words or less to a creature with which you are familiar. (He does control a hive-mind)

Tongues:  This spell grants the creature you touch the ability to understand any spoken language it hears. (He’s been conquering planets, each likely with their own language).

Spirit Guardians:  You call forth spirits to protect you. They flit around you to a distance of 15 feet for the duration. If you are good or neutral, their spectral form appears angelic or fey (your choice). If you are evil, they appear fiendish. (For Horde Prime it would be clones that suddenly appear when a Queen speaks out of turn).

Order Domain grants two additional spells.

Mass Healing Word:  As you call out words of restoration, up to six creatures of your choice that you can see within range regain hit points equal to 1d4 + your spellcasting ability modifier.

Slow: You alter time around up to six creatures of your choice in a 40-foot cube within range. Each target must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or be affected by this spell for the duration.An affected target’s speed is halved, it takes a -2 penalty to AC and Dexterity saving throws, and it can’t use reactions.

Cleric 6th Level

Gains an extra use of Channel Divinity.

Order Domain gives  Embodiment of the Law: If you cast a spell of the enchantment school using a spell slot of 1st level or higher, you can change the spell's casting time to 1 bonus action for this casting, provided the spell's casting time is normally 1 action.You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Wisdom modifier (minimum of once), and you regain all expended uses of it when you finish a long rest.  

This will be very useful starting next level.  

From this point on, we’re switching over to Wizard.  

Wizard 1st Level

Horde Prime can now cast Wizard spells and has Arcane Recovery:  Once per day when you finish a short rest, you can choose expended spell slots to recover.

The Wizard Cantrips I would Recommend: 

Encode Thoughts:  You pull a memory, an idea, or a message from your mind and transform it into a tangible string of glowing energy called a thought strand, which persists for the duration or until you cast this spell again. 

Friends:  For the duration, you have advantage on all Charisma checks directed at one creature of your choice that isn’t hostile toward you. 

The 1st Level Wizard Spells I would recommend:

Cause Fear:  You awaken the sense of mortality in one creature you can see within range.

Charm Person:  You attempt to charm a humanoid you can see within range. It must make a Wisdom saving throw, and does so with advantage if you or your companions are fighting it. If it fails the saving throw, it is charmed by you until the spell ends or until you or your companions do anything harmful to it. The charmed creature regards you as a friendly acquaintance. 

Message:  You point your finger toward a creature within range and whisper a message. The target (and only the target) hears the message and can reply in a whisper that only you can hear. 

Puppet:  Your gesture forces one humanoid you can see within range to make a Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, the target must move up to its speed in a direction you choose. In addition, you can cause the target to drop whatever it is holding.

Wizard 2nd Level

Choose the Arcane Tradition: School of Enchantment.  Beginning when you select this school at 2nd level, the gold and time you must spend to copy a Enchantment spell into your spellbook is halved.  

You gain Hypnotic Gaze: your soft words and enchanting gaze can magically enthrall another creature. As an action, choose one creature that you can see within 5 feet of you. If the target can see or hear you, it must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw against your wizard spell save DC or be charmed by you until the end of your next turn. The charmed creature's speed drops to 0, and the creature is incapacitated and visibly dazed.

Wizard 3rd Level

Second Level Wizard spells are available.  

Enchantment spells are Horde Prime’s friend for this build.  With School of Enchantment and Embodiment of Law that you got from Cleric Order Domain, Horde Prime can easily learn Enchantment Spells and fire them off with bonus actions.

Suggestion:  You suggest a course of activity (limited to a sentence or two) and magically influence a creature you can see within range that can hear and understand you.

Detect Thoughts:  For the duration, you can read the thoughts of certain creatures. When you cast the spell and as your action on each turn until the spell ends, you can focus your mind on any one creature that you can see within 30 feet of you 

Wizard 4th Level

Ability Score Improvement should be split between Wisdom and Intelligence.  If Wisdom is maxed out, then put both points into Intelligence to improve on Wizard spells.  

Wizard 5th Level

3rd level spells are available. I recommend:

Hypnotic Pattern:  You create a twisting pattern of colors that weaves through the air inside a 30-foot cube within range. The pattern appears for a moment and vanishes. Each creature in the area who sees the pattern must make a Wisdom saving throw. On a failed save, the creature becomes charmed for the duration. While charmed by this spell, the creature is incapacitated and has a speed of 0. 

Fear:  You project a phantasmal image of a creature’s worst fears. Each creature in a 30-foot cone must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or drop whatever it is holding and become frightened for the duration.

Wizard 6th Level

Instinctive Charm:  when a creature you can see within 30 feet of you makes an attack roll against you, you can use your reaction to divert the attack, provided that another creature is within the attack's range. The attacker must make a Wisdom saving throw against your wizard spell save DC. On a failed save, the attacker must target the creature that is closest to it, not including you or itself. If multiple creatures are closest, the attacker chooses which one to target.

Wizard 7th Level

4th level Wizard spells are open.  I recommend:

Confusion:  This spell assaults and twists creatures’ minds, spawning delusions and provoking uncontrolled actions.

Arcane Eye:  You create an invisible, magical eye within range that hovers in the air for the duration. You mentally receive visual information from the eye, which has normal vision and darkvision out to 30 feet. The eye can look in every direction. (Kinda like a drone?)

Wizard 8th Level

Ability Score Improvement.  Wisdom should be maxed out by now so put points into Intelligence.  

Wizard 9th Level

Fifth level spells are available.  Recommend:

Dominate Person:  You attempt to beguile a humanoid that you can see within range. It must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or be charmed by you for the duration.  While the target is charmed, you have a telepathic link with it as long as the two of you are on the same plane of existence. You can use this telepathic link to issue commands to the creature while you are conscious (no action required), which it does its best to obey.    

Geas:  You place a magical command on a creature that you can see within range, forcing it to carry out some service or refrain from some action or course of activity as you decide.

Hold Monster:  Choose a creature that you can see within range. The target must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or be paralyzed for the duration.

Wizard 10th Level

Split Enchantment:  Starting at 10th level, when you cast an enchantment spell of 1st level or higher that targets only one creature, you can have it target a second creature.   Imagine casting Geas or Dominate Person on two people at the same time!

Wizard 11th Level

6th Level Spells are available.  Recommendation:

Mass Suggestion:  You suggest a course of activity (limited to a sentence or two) and magically influence up to twelve creatures of your choice that you can see within range and that can hear and understand you.

Wizard 12th Level

Ability Score Improvement, Wisdom should be maxed.  And if Intelligence is already maxed, use these points to round out the other scores.  

Wizard 13th Level

7th Level spells are available.  Recommendation:

Project Image:  You create an illusory copy of yourself that lasts for the duration. The copy can appear at any location within range that you have seen before, regardless of intervening obstacles. The illusion looks and sounds like you but is intangible. If the illusion takes any damage, it disappears, and the spell ends.

Wizard 14th Level

Alter Memories:  you gain the ability to make a creature unaware of your magical influence on it. When you cast an enchantment spell to charm one or more creatures, you can alter one creature's understanding so that it remains unaware of being charmed.

And there you have it.  Not the strongest build, but he comes across as a magic user that specializes in mind manipulation, or enchantment magic.  I would round out his spell roster with offensive spells from Wizard spell list and healing spells from the Cleric’s.  

I had considered going sorcery, but the class is too chaotic for orderly Horde Prime, so I went with Cleric/Wizard build instead with a focus on Enchantment magic.     

January 15th-January 21st, 2020 Reader Favorites Archive

The archive for the Reader Favorites chat that occurred from January 15th, 2020 to January 21st, 2020.  The chat focused on the following question:

What sort of merchandise are you most likely to buy for webcomics you read and why?

carcarchu

does a physical copy of the book count as merch? nothing compares to the feel of a real book in your hands and watching my collection grow is so satisfying. i like having a tangible way to show my support. after that is small prints. i rarely see acrylic charms of webcomic characters but those are nice too

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

I know I'm particularly weak for enamel pins - which happen to be the first major merch I made for my first time tabling at a con. They're definitely the most common thing for me to consider purchasing from others. I also like small prints and stickers! And if a particularly cute character is somehow made into a plush... I'd be all over that, too.

Cronaj

For me, I love physical comics. So if a webcomic creator made a physical print version of their comic, that would be the best way to entice me to buy something. Comics almost always look better on paper in my opinion, and I'm a weirdo when it comes to book smell I sniff new books like an absolute degenerate. The other thing I would buy is art prints or art books. I have a huuuuge collection of art prints from creators I admire. So keep 'em comin'! I mean, I'll buy any merch that calls to me, but usually if I can't put it on a shelf, hang it on the wall, or wear it, I probably have no use for it.

Capitania do Azar

I'm a big fan of physical copies and charms of all kinds! I also appreciate stickers and small prints (big prints are nice, but take up a lot of space). Zines with side stories or related/concept art are also a good choice

keii4ii

Storage is a big issue for me, so I tend to not buy physical books unless like... it's a comic I would love to read but can't do so online easily (e.g. if the website doesn't function properly on my computer) I really like prints that have qualities/features that can't be replicated digitally -- e.g. foil, holo coating, VERY special paper texture, etc. (I've even seen one artist offer lenticular prints which I thought was awesome -- just wasn't into the characters that were on the art) Small to medium sized prints are fairly easy to store, so that's also a big plus for me! Also, clear plastic folders? I've never bought them admittedly, but those can look SO nice with the right type of art (some artworks look so special when printed on that clear material). I wish more people offered them so I could actually buy these, but I understand they can be costly to print.

Tired Programmer

I would buy physical copies as well. About the storage issue... Well, when I understand, that there are too many of them for my humble bookcase, I just sell or give old ones away. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ And also stickers. Stickers rock. (edited)

SAWHAND

I agree! If I really like the comic I like to have a physical copy! It feels special since I think a lot of times they're limited printing. I also really like stickers since they can just get put on something I already have and thus not take up extra space. I generally don't get prints because wall space is at a premium and I feel silly not having them hung up, but that's just a personal preference. Other than that it would have to be something really cool or something with function, like a notebook or...I don't know, an apron, or maaaybe a t-shirt.

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Printed comics are definitely my go to fav especially if it's a webcomic I've been really wanting to read but haven't had the time to do it online. Sitting down with a book is a lot easier for me that sitting with my phone or pulling my laptop out. I do also like stickers a lot. I've really gotten into covering the inside covers of my sketchbooks with them the last few years X)

kayotics

I usually go for printed books, pins, or plushies. If there’s a Kickstarter happening I’ll usually splurge for a pin tier if it exists. I don’t use stickers that much but I know a lot of people love them? But it’s not my thing.(edited)

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

Usually printed books and phone charms. I will always buy webcomics that go to print and I collect charms. Other things like stickers and pins are nice, but often too pricey. I will go for them when they're bundled into KS tiers with printed books, though.

varethane

Printed books for me! Sometimes stickers, and sometimes enamel pina

Pins

I dont tend to get prints because I wont really do anything with them

(But my prints tend to sell decently, so there is a market for them out there...)

keii4ii

I just like collecting prints! I don't even put them on my wall, I just stick them in a binder kind of like my own custom-curated artbook

I really like seeing the combination of certain artworks and certain paper textures!

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

omg Kei...why have I not thought of that ?? I will now do that for all the print i've collected gosh!! and I agree with Vare, books are top tier merch I go for (zines included) Prints are a second for me, with charms and pins being the thing i least go for bc of space (though I am seeing pin boards come into fashion and I'm def into doing that as well!)

mariah (rainy day dreams)

I do really love pins too, I'm just really bad at remembering to wear them. I probably should get myself one of those clear back packs con goers wear.

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

oh yes ita bags!

varethane

The problem with me wearing pins is that I normally bike everywhere, while wearing a backpack

So if I put them on a jacket, the straps of the bag will rub on most of the good pin locations

And if they fall off while I'm riding my bike they are lost forever

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

I tried putting pins on my backpack for a while.... only to come home and realise they fell off at some point during the day.

varethane

Yeah :(

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Ita bag! Yes! Lol I'm always super scared that my pins will just break and I'll loose them X') so when I do remember to wear one I'm constantly checking to make sure it's still on me

varethane

I have one jacket that I've been putting most of my pins on, which I wear to conventions

And it did pretty well except my rice boy pin fell off somewhere in the Seattle airport and is now lost forever :(

Betrayal......

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

i have def...super glued pins to my backpack before and the rubber backings are so bad for pins too bc they never hold

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Oh, patches are another thing, like pins, that I love but usually have to stop myself from getting. I need to find a good patch jacket, because I really love a patch. I've been wanting to make one for my own comic merch for a while too.

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

ohhh yes same-- i stll have patches that i havent done anything yet with bc i haven't found The Right Jacket

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Same TuT

Eightfish

I've got the Property of Hate tarot postcards up on my wall right now. Also partial to a good enamel pin. What I'd love to see in merch is a well designed, stylish shirt, but haven't really found that so far. I find webcomic shirts tend to be too detailed and illustration-y to look good as shirts, and would prefer something more graphic.

Q @CecilieQMT making WAYFINDERS

I'd love to design shirts! Just haven't figured out how to get them printed properly... ^^'

RebelVampire

For me, it's digital copies. So PDFs and eBooks. Unlike many people here, I can't stand print copies for a myriad of reasons. XD But digital copies I can get behind cause it supports the artist, has some nice bonus stuff sometimes, and generally collects everything nicely so some website hiccups aren't a problem. While this has never come up because it's rare, I would also buy plushies. Cause one can never have enough plushies. But alas, I don't think the market is there for that XD

kayotics

Plushies are just really hard to produce and store, same with T-shirts

Well, T-shirts aren’t that hard to produce, but they’re hard to store and keep a good amount of sizes

Mei

I tend to buy books/physical copies of webcomics I like! I really enjoy the physical reading experience! I also really like buying enamel or non-enamel pins. I enjoy collecting them, but going off what people have already said, I also have an innate fear of losing them :(

AntiBunny

If it has a cute character, and the price is in my budget, plushies are awesome. Unfortunately that's a difficult one to do, because small batches of plush that are build by hand are going to be expensive, and a comic has to be very popular to warrant more economical large runs. And I'll also say physical books.

Mei

plushies ARE awesome

I got the coyote plushie from Tom, the guy who does Gunnerkrigg Court

I just really love it

and also I couldn't decide which of the MANY volumes of comics to buy

(i didn't and still don't have space to stock up on a lot of books so I must be prudent sometimes)

((but my bed always has space for plushies))

A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter fourteen

Chapter summary: Carnistir is stressed, and the meeting for tea goes awry.

Story summary: Sometimes your heart chooses for you before you even know there is a choice to make, and then all that can be done is find out whether love can build bridges across differences and fears. This is my story of how Caranthir comes to be married, with Caranthir’s family members alternately helping and hindering his attempts at courting.

Rating: Teen and up audiences; Chapter length: ~5,600 words

Tag-type thingies for the whole story: years of the trees, romance, falling in love, family, courtship, anger management issues, the Noldor, the Vanyar, some fluff and some angst, happy ending

Chapter notes: Rowan/@acommonanomaly did three wonderful portraits of Tuilindien a while ago, please check them out if you haven’t yet! I gave descriptions of Tuilë's looks to Rowan but they drew her so much better than I was able to even imagine.

I think it's best to remind you guys of some tags that have been there since the beginning but are most relevant for this chapter and the next two: the 'anger management issues' and 'angst' tags. But to reassure anyone who might be worried, I have now added a 'happy ending' tag, because that was always going to happen and still is.

See end note for a mild warning.

(Also posted on AO3 etc.)

*

Chapter XIV // Lapses of judgement

There is an odd sense of weightlessness that surrounds Carnistir as he makes his way home along the familiar streets. A small part of his mind is by necessity concentrated on keeping Varnë from stomping or champing on anyone, but the rest is still in the glade filled with dappled golden light and the rush of water and the sensation of Tuilindien in his arms, her lips on his, her scent in his nose, their emotions and sensations mixing and being amplified between them.

He had felt so at peace, even while his blood ran hot and he wanted to hold on to her ever tighter.

Some of that peace remains while he tends to Varnë at the stables at home, giving her a thorough brushing for behaving well or at least not embarrassing him thoroughly, going as far as to feed her a few apples as a reward. His bad-tempered horse has mellowed somewhat over the years but Carnistir believes that constant reinforcement of good behaviour should be continued.

(He doesn't like to think of all the times his parents must have used the same method on him.)

When he's going to his room to wash and change, the last of the pleasant golden haze in his mind is dispersed when he sees Curufinwë step out of the room next to his. Carnistir tenses and remembers all the times, when they were both easily irritable adolescents, he demanded his parents that he be given be a bedchamber farther away from Curufinwë's. Fëanáro told him that he should consider his brothers allies rather than squabble with them, which Carnistir later realised was deeply hypocritical of him and anyway, Curvo has always made that difficult.

And still likes to do so, apparently, for he leans against the wall and smirks far too widely at Carnistir. 'I see your afternoon with your Vanya went well', he observes. 'I heard you humming from around the corner.'

'I see you have nothing to do but lurk around the house uselessly', Carnistir snaps back. 'And call Tuilë by her name, if you must speak of her. Even father calls her Ingolmiel now.'

'And grimaces every time he does.' As so often, Carnistir's attempts at sharp words have failed to wipe the smug grin off Curufinwë's face. Curufinwë continues, 'I must say, you are a most peculiar kind of lover, Moryo: you would have no talk of your sweetheart – of Ingolmiel', he corrects hastily when Carnistir looks at him threateningly and steps closer. He keeps going, though. 'I was a child when Makalaurë fell for Tinweriel, but even I grew bored of him talking about her all the time. Then again, you've never been the best with words.'

Carnistir knows he is bright red, knows his hands are clenched into fists at his sides; he doesn't know why exactly Curufinwë is doing this but he must be looking for a reaction, an explosive one.

With effort, he steps back and unclenches his fists. He opens the door to his own room and says to Curvo, 'I told you weeks ago: one day you will understand. Until then, shut your mouth about my personal affairs. You don't sound nearly as smart as you think.' He hates the wavering growl in his voice, but it is better than shouting where his mother and youngest brothers would probably hear it.

Curufinwë's smirk has grown less bright. With cheer that is so clearly false that even Carnistir can see it, he says, 'Don't be unsociable, Moryo.'

Carnistir shuts the door in his face.

*

Dinner is a half-miserable affair that Carnistir would rather have avoided. His mother asks about his day just as she asked about everyone else's, without pointing out the significance of his and Tuilindien's first private excursion outside of Tirion.

He tells his family very briefly, his temper already flaring in anticipation of teasing from Tyelko or Curvo, that the ride had been pleasant and Tuilindien had found the waterfall glade beautiful.

'That's nice to hear', Maitimo smiles. 'The twins have never been there, we should take them someday soon. They should be good enough riders in no time, based on their enthusiasm at least.'

The twins hasten to assure everyone that yes, of course they will. Relieved at the change of topic, Carnistir does his best to return Maitimo's smile. He feels deeply the value of his oldest brother's support, all the more when Maitimo continues to carry to conversation. Somehow he manages to keep to topics far away from courting, the visiting Vanyar and even Fëanáro's work in the forge. The last topic Carnistir would like avoid because he hasn't yet finished the designs for the improvements of said forge even though he has promised to deliver them to his father very soon.

Carnistir eats quickly and speaks little. He is good at both but unfortunately doesn't manage to escape all attention. When he rises from the table as soon as he deems it passably polite (perhaps it is, perhaps it isn't; he's never quite sure) his father speaks his name.

'Morifinwë. Will you have those plans for me tomorrow?' Fëanáro asks. 'Or have you been too busy with other things?'

Carnistir grips the ornately carved back of the chair he just rose from so hard that it hurts. 'I'll have them ready', he says curtly. Already as he leaves the room he is regretting the impulsive promise – there are many hours of planning work left, not to mention redrawing every page to make sure they look neat and well-presented enough for Fëanáro's exacting standards. He didn't stop to consider any of that though; the only thought in his mind was that his father mustn't have any reason to blame Tuilindien for him neglecting his work.

He curses his impulsiveness all the way to his room, and once he gets there he shuts the door with a bang.

Then he sits down at his desk, digs out the messy designs and wonders how he is supposed to finish them in one night. He feels like the string of a bow pulled too tight, overstretched, close to snapping. The serenity and sweetness of the waterfall glade are all gone now, and they feel hard to recapture.

That is for the best, he decides, for then the thoughts of the lovely golden hours cannot distract him. He sets to work, frowning.

*

He isn't certain how long has passed when there is a knock on his door, but he does know he hasn't made nearly as much progress as he wants to. He also doesn't know who is it that is knocking, but he is certain that he doesn't want company.

'Go away', he growls under his breath, keeping quiet in deference to the twins' bedtime that has surely already passed.

'I know you're awake.' Curufinwë's voice is equally quiet. 'I can see the light under your door.'

'Go away anyway.'

'Look, Carnistir, don't be an idiot. Let me in.'

Carnistir tosses his quill to the desk and goes to the door but doesn't open it. 'What do you want, Curufinwë?' Again he can feel his temper rising, and trying to control it places an ever-tightening metal band around his head, an almost-tangible thing.

'You said to father that you're going to present the forge plans to him tomorrow, but I know you don't have them ready.'

Carnistir closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the door. He is tired, and he holds on to that instead of the anger he's also feeling. 'I will have them ready tomorrow.'

'You must be planning to work all night, then –'

'Why did you come to my door, Curvo?' Carnistir snaps. 'To gloat at my mismanagement of my schedule? Or to distract me so that I surely won't have my work done by morning?'

'To help.'

Carnistir is so astonished that he finds himself opening the door. 'Really?' he asks Curufinwë. 'After mocking me and my courting for weeks, you suddenly want to help?'

'If you actually listened to what I say and didn't bristle as soon as I open my mouth, you'd know that I have mocked you much less than you think', Curufinwë snaps back. 'Now, are you going to let me in and let me do the tidying up for you?'

'Shh, it's late.' Carnistir ushers his brother into the room and closes the door behind him quietly. 'You mean you'll copy the final versions?'

'Yes.' Curufinwë crosses his arms on his chest, as if to offset his generosity by the brusque gesture. 'It's not like I can do the actual drawing, since you're the one father asked to do the designing and you're better at buildings anyway.' He scowls like he always does when admitting that someone is better at something than he is. 'But unless you've gotten sloppy recently, I know you'll want to redo the drawings and copy the notations in a neater hand. You and I always do that when we have something to present to father.'

'Yes, we do', Carnistir says, regarding Curufinwë less suspiciously as he is reminded that he and Curvo are close in this one way: they are the only ones of Fëanáro's sons, this far at least, who have chosen to make a career of pursuing the same crafts as their father. Maitimo, Makalaurë and Tyelkormo only enter the forge and workshop more rarely, and only out of a sense of filial duty.

'Fine', Carnistir says after a moment. 'I mean, thank you', he adds stiffly.

Curufinwë doesn't acknowledge the expression of gratitude. Instead he moves another chair to the desk and picks up topmost page of a stack of papers. 'This looks like the first page', he observes. 'Is it finished?'

Carnistir shakes his head to recover from the lingering astonishment at Curufinwë's behaviour. 'Yes, it is.'

'Your penmanship is atrocious', says Curufinwë, bending his head to start copying the page.

Thanks to Curufinwë's assistance, Carnistir manages to finish the forge designs and even get a little sleep, but he is hardly rested and relaxed in the morning when he drops the stack of designs at his father's place at the breakfast table.

When Fëanáro sees it he arches one elegant brow. 'I must admit, I didn't expect you to have them today, and it wasn't completely necessary either.' His countenance softens ever so slightly as he asks, 'Did you rest at all?'

'I rested enough', Carnistir says, his eyes down on his plate in the hope of hiding the pallor of his face. He knows he looks unwell, and it wouldn't matter, except – 'I am happy to go over the plans with you today, father, but I must leave for a few hours in the afternoon.'

'Ah.' Fëanáro sets the papers he's been perusing back on the table. 'I see. Another meeting with lady Ingolmiel. You hardly go a day without seeing her.'

Carnistir stabs at his food. 'We don't want to waste any time we could have together before she has to leave.' This is not a topic he likes to dwell on, for even if Tuilindien manages to stay a little longer than she was originally going to, there is still a separation ahead.

'Of course not, my dear', Nerdanel says, aiming a warning look at her husband. 'I'm sure you will have time enough to discuss your work with your father even if you meet Ingolmiel in the afternoon. After all, we have all been talking about these forge improvements for a long time and it will also take time to build them, so it is surely no great matter if you take two days instead of one to make sure that the designs are what both of you want them to be.'

Fëanáro nods, but his mouth is a thin line of almost-disapproval, and Carnistir's temper is again a thread stretched too thin, or a snake coiled up, ready and threatening to strike – all those things that are appropriate metaphors for a dangerous thing one needs to keep a watchful eye on.

*

His temper is stretched even tighter by the time he leaves his father's study in the early afternoon and hurries back to his room to change for his meeting with Tuilindien. He made good progress on the plans with his father, and Fëanáro thankfully refrained from making any snide comments about Tuilindien, but Carnistir still hasn't forgiven him for his earlier behaviour. Things between them are troubled and tense.

Along the way to his room he notices that his youngest brothers are doing something slightly suspicious in the garden, but he doesn't have time to investigate and decides to just pretend that he didn't see them digging up a flowerbed.

As he rummages through his wardrobe to find something suitable for a walk in a park and subsequent refreshments at a teahouse, he thinks once again of how odd it is to feel excited for something that is in itself so respectable and boring. In addition to excitement, though, he is also frustrated. He would so much prefer to go riding with Tuilindien again, as far away from the city as possible, but they don't have time for that this time.

He is roused from his thoughts by the realisation that he has thrown nearly all of his clothes on the bed and yet finds himself none the wiser as to what he'll wear. He doesn't have very many clothes suitable for these important but not formal meetings with Tuilindien. Unlike Curvo or Makalaurë, he has never paid much attention to having many nice clothes.

He settles for a dark maroon tunic with silver embroidery at the collar and sleeves that is presentable but slightly too tight at the shoulders for a few years now, and charcoal grey breeches. When he steps out of his room, in a hurry by now, he finds the Ambarussar in the corridor. They are leaning against the wall opposite his door but when they see him, they scramble to their feet.

'Where are you going, Moryo?' asks Telvo.

'I told you, he's going to see the girl again', says Pityo and shoves at his twin.

Telvo shoves back. 'You don't know that for sure. Are you going to see her, Carnistir?'

'It's none of your business if I am', says Carnistir, locking his door to make sure that curious little boys don't find their way there.

'See? I told you.' Pityo sticks his tongue out at Telvo.

Carnistir ignores the squabbling boys and walks away, but he can hear the patter of their feet on the marble floor as they follow him.

'Can we come too, Carnistir? We have had the most boring day.'

He just shakes his head without turning. They should know well enough what it means, and that it's not appropriate for them to come along with him.

The twins start listing their grievances. 'Father has been working with you, mother is working on her own, and Tyelko rode off in the morning to stay with Oromë again', Telvo says.

'And we don't know what Curvo is doing but we haven't seen him all day. Russandol is at the palace again, and we don't even have lessons', Pityo adds with a sigh.

The Ambarussar must be bored indeed if they are missing their lessons with their prim tutor. Carnistir pities them a little but not very much. After all, they at least have each other for entertainment and annoyance at all times, which is more than most children do.

'Your girl is much nicer than you are, I'm sure she wouldn't mind us coming.' Telvo, who fancies himself the more silver-tongued of the two, is trying his childish best to persuade his big brother. It would make his Carnistir smile on most days.

They are by the front door by this time, and Carnistir turns to face the boys. 'No, you can't come.'

'But –', tries Pityo, the more tenacious one.

'No, and it's final. Go pester the servants if you need more company than each other. Or don't pester the cook and he might give you biscuits.'

With this sage advice Caranthir steps out the door.

He is deep in thought all the way to the courtyard beneath the Mindon, trying to find some serenity, however little, at the thought of meeting Tuilindien, and in preparation for it. Thus this time it is she who notices him first and comes to him with swift steps rather than the other way round.

'Carnistir.' She greets him with a smile full of light and delight and offers him her hand to kiss. He does, of course, gladly, and then tucks her hand under his arm as they begin walking.

'There is a small park we haven't visited yet', he says. It is even more awkward than he'd thought it would be to have gone back to this sedate strolling along city streets, walking with her on his arm as if she needs the support, and knowing that this is the most physical contact they can hope to have with each other today.

They are far from the only members of nobility taking a walk in the heart of the city. They even pass lady Maquetimië, that irksome gossipmonger who spread the knowledge of their first meeting to everyone who would listen.

The lady greets them, and Tuilindien returns the greeting. Carnistir tightens his hold on her to ground himself in the reality of her being there, trying to keep away from the feelings of irritation and anger that this particular courtier has aroused in him since he was a child, and all the more recently.

Maquetimië tries to start a conversation, but either Tuilindien doesn't have very warm feelings towards her either or she can sense his irritation, for she politely tells Maquetimië that very regretfully, they are in a hurry and cannot stop to chat – but they will surely see again at some court function soon, she adds, because that is how she is.

'Thank you', Carnistir murmurs to her once they've escaped Maquetimië's clutches, dearly hoping that they won't run into her again any time soon.

'I'm not prepared to waste a moment of being with you to idle chatter with anyone else', Tuilindien says with the smallest of blushes, and Carnistir wants to kiss that blush and make it deepen.

Not being able to tenses up the restless thing inside him again.

*

'I liked the trees in that park', Tuilindien says as they take their seats at a table outside the teahouse, also situated underneath some trees. 'They were older than this city, weren't they? Wild things rather than planted here by your industrious people.'

'I suppose so. I don't know for certain, though. You would have to ask my grandfather.'

'Perhaps I will, if I get the chance.' It is hardly an outrageous thing to say, but she still feels shy, curling her fingers around her teacup and holding it close.

'He will like you, you know', Carnistir says, sounding like's only just realising it, and relieved about it. It feels like the tension that has seemed to surround him today dissipates slightly. 'Grandfather Finwë doesn't have… prejudices. He has many friends among the Vanyar.'

She doesn't quite know what to say in reply to that, so she just smiles. There is a lull in their conversation, less comfortable and sweet than yesterday's touch-filled quiet moments, while they sip tea and nibble at cake. Or she nibbles, at least. Carnistir has already polished off his.

She steals glances at him, thinking that he looks very nice in his rather tight brownish-red shirt that compliments his dark looks.

In the quiet between them, in spite of the chatter of other teahouse customers, Tuilindien becomes aware of a quiet rustling sound that appears to come from some distance away. Looking around briefly, she sees nothing unusual. Carnistir appears distracted by the noise, but Tuilindien decides she has had enough of the somewhat awkward silence. She asks if he has set a time for a riding lesson with the twins already, since he said the day before that he would do soon.

'I'm thinking of doing it some day next week', he replies, shifting his concentration from the surrounding noises to her. His hand creeps closer to hers on the table. 'I haven't spoken to them about it yet, though. I should. They seem so restless still, though things with my father have mostly calmed down. I think they need more to occupy their time, really. When I was leaving home to come see you, they declared themselves bored and asked to come along even though –'

They hear the rustling again, this time louder, perhaps closer. Carnistir appears bothered by it, which Tuilindien finds odd – while his emotions are volatile, she has never seen him startled by a small thing such as this.

She remarks that there are probably some birds looking for crumbs or for berries in the bushes, and at that Carnistir's face turns red and he stands up suddenly.

'Wait here, Tuilë.' And then he is gone, his long strides carrying him away from her before she can do more than open her mouth in astonishment.

She watches as he walks past several tables to the bushes in the direction where the rustling sound came from and reaches into the foliage. There is a sudden cry of pain, and another, and then two red-headed little boys emerge and are grabbed none too gently by their ears by their big brother.

Tuilindien stands up and gathers her skirts and hurries to where Carnistir is now fuming at his brothers. If he is trying to do it quietly, he is failing utterly.

'Carnistir.' She touches his arm and he lets go of his brothers and turns to her. He is clearly attempting to rein in his fury, but she can still feel him shaking with it. So much anger, directed at children.

She speaks carefully. 'I see your little brothers also have a craving for delicacies on this day. Good afternoon, Pityafinwë and Telufinwë.' She greets them, nodding as calmly as she can, as if it is completely normal to discover little boys lurking in the bushes while their brother has tea with a woman he's courting.

The twins bow clumsily back to her, attempting to behave now that they have been reprimanded, though their faces and ears are red and they have tears in their eyes. In spite of their misbehaviour Tuilindien's heart goes out to them: they are so young and look so contrite and scared at being found out and at their brother's anger.

'Carnistir, I think your little brothers should join us.' She looks at him meaningfully. 'Since they are here already.'

He looks at her like she is crazy. 'Come on, Tuilë, they don't deserve it', he grinds out, and goes to grab her by the arm as if to take her aside to speak with her privately. But he seizes her too roughly and she hears herself make a little surprised noise of pain when his strong fingers dig into her arm and twist as he tries to make her turn aside.

At her pained sound Carnistir lets go of her at once. 'I'm sorry', he says quickly, horror bleeding into his voice and into their connection that neither is managing to control. 'Did I hurt you?'

'It is all right', she says reflexively and makes a point of not touching her arm where his fingers gripped her, though it smarts. She tries not to tremble.

'I'm so sorry', he says again, looking dazed.

A part of her wants to comfort him but she cannot quite bring herself to. 'Carnistir, I think we should go back to our table. With your brothers.'

'They were spying on us. They followed me even though I had forbidden them to come. Our parents must be afraid of where they've disappeared to, if they have found out that they're gone.'

In spite of his words his fury is mere embers now, and she knows she can talk him into doing as she wishes.

Working hard to keep her voice steady, she says, 'It was wrong of them, I agree, and you can chastise them more for it later when you go home. But now I think we should go back to our table. No need for a scene here, Carnistir.'

She speaks softly but Carnistir seems to realise that he is being reprimanded as much as the twins. 'I don't care about people staring. Let them stare, I'm already notorious', he says, but the words ring hollow.

His anger that had burnt red-hot seems to have disappeared in a cloud of shame and regret, less alarming than the rage but just as stifling in Tuilindien's mind. She tries to close their connection and concentrate on the children while appearing normal to any curious onlookers. She doesn't like wearing masks but she can do it when required.

'Carnistir', she says again.

He shakes his head, frowning – Tuilindien feels him distancing himself from her, like she tried to do as well – and then says quietly, dejectedly, 'Yes, let's go. Come on, Ambarussar.'

Tuilindien takes each little twin by the hand as they walk back to the table where their abandoned cakes have attracted the attention of a few bees. She gently encourages them to move elsewhere, then sits down and encourages the twins to do the same.

She looks up at Carnistir who is still standing uncomfortably by the table. The twins have seated themselves on either side of her.

Tuilindien asks, 'Carnistir, would you go get some cakes for your brothers? And another pot of tea as well.'

He flinches a little at her formal tone as if it is an insult, but doesn't protest. 'I'll also pay someone to take word to mother that they are safe', he says and goes into the teahouse.

Tuilindien lets out a little sight as she stirs her now-cold tea, tries to gather herself and thinks of how to use this short time she has gained alone with Carnistir's little brothers. In addition to it being the right thing to do, it is easier to think of them than of the budding panic she feels at how things with Carnistir have suddenly taken such a terrible turn.

'Do you two often follow your brothers?' she chooses to ask first. They have done it twice now to her and Carnistir.

Two red heads are shaken. 'They don't like it, and mother and father don't like either', says the twin on her left that she suspects might be the elder, Pityafinwë.

'Then why did you follow Carnistir today even though he told you not to?'

Both of the twins stare down so she cannot see their faces from where she is sitting between them.

'Look at me', she says gently but firmly, the same way she often speaks to the children she gives writing lessons to. At once two small faces look up at her, pale under the freckles but thankfully no longer tearful.

'Do you not like him seeing me?' She glances at either little boy in turn.

The twins look at each other and don't speak a word, but Tuilindien gets the definite impression that there is a conversation taking place.

'He doesn't spend as much time with us since he started seeing you', says the twin on the left after a moment.

'He used to take us with him to many places, but he doesn't do that so much anymore. He never lets us come along when he sees you. And he is busy all the time, and grumpy most of the time.'

'And he keeps his door locked now', adds the other. 'Tyelko and Curvo almost never let us into their rooms. Russandol does but he's away at the palace or somewhere a lot. We liked spending time in Moryo's room, and he helped us with our homework often.'

'He also often shouted at us and sometimes threw us out', adds the first twin as if in the name of honesty, 'but that's all right. He shouts at everybody, it's not dangerous.'

This is said in the name of family loyalty and innocent love both, Tuilindien thinks, or hopes at least.

'We just wondered what he does with you that is so important and so secret that he won't tell us', confesses the twin on the left after a moment. He seems to be the spokesman of the two. 'So we came to see, and also because we were so bored. And you were just talking and drinking tea.'

'Not even anything exciting', says the other twin and wipes his nose on the sleeve of his tunic. Automatically, Tuilindien hands him her napkin, and then Carnistir's napkin to the other boy.

As they blow their noses Tuilindien thinks of Carnistir's brothers and remembers that the only married one is Canafinwë, the second oldest of the seven; the twins must have been very young when he was courting his wife. She wonders if they realise why Carnistir keeps seeing her.

Carefully, she says, 'Sometimes when a young man and woman like each other, they want to spend time together even if they do not do anything exciting. And they like to be alone together.'

The twins are staring at their feet again so she doesn't know how much they understand of what she says. After a moment, the one on the left says, 'We are sorry we ruined your tea meeting.'

'I forgive you', replies Tuilindien. 'I am sure you have learned that it was the wrong thing to do to follow your brother without permission. But you will have to apologise to him too, even if it is scary because he gets so angry.'

'We will', say the twins in unison.

Tuilindien is afraid to ask, but she has to know, for she has been wondering ever since she saw Carnistir drag his brothers out of the bush and grab them so roughly. And then he touched her so roughly too, so differently from all other times... 'Does he – does Carnistir ever hit you when he is angry? Or hurt you in some other way?'

Two pairs of horrified blue-grey eyes stare up at her. 'He would never hit us! He sometimes shouts and curses and breaks things –'

'– by throwing them. And he slams doors, he once broke the door of the garden pavilion', adds the other twin helpfully.

'But he doesn't hit us or hurt us. Well, except when he drags us somewhere, like he dragged us out of that bush. But he didn't do it to hurt us, just to get us out of there.'

Tuilindien is relieved beyond words. She is still very much unnerved by his temper and thinks that he should not treat his little brothers as he does, but her graver concern at least seems unnecessary. She takes a few deep breaths to compose herself.

'Lady Tuilindien.' Small hands reach out to touch hers and two little faces look at her beseechingly. 'Please don't be angry with Moryo because of us. We didn't mean to cause him trouble, or you.'

'We do like you, lady Tuilindien', the other twin says. 'We think that it makes Moryo happy to spend time with you. Even if he is grumpy with us.'

Tuilindien thinks that these two have a very good heart, though if they are naughty sometimes. And it seems that young as they are, they might have some of their mother's famous insight and wisdom.

She squeezes their hands and says, 'There is no need to call me "lady", just call me Tuilindien or Tuilë.' She smiles at them gently, happy that the three of them got this far before Carnistir returns.

'You can call us Ambarussar.' The twins are all light and smiles now. 'Or you can call me Telvo and him', the boy on the left points at his twin, 'Pityo. Our father doesn't like it when we are called by the same name.'

Just as Carnistir returns balancing a treat-filled tray on each arm, Tuilindien tells the twins that she will call them by different names when it is necessary to refer to only one of them, but otherwise she is happy to use the name they have chosen to share. She believes in the right to choose one's own name.

Carnistir distributes cakes and pours tea while Tuilindien keeps chatting with the Ambarussar until the last traces of paleness and upset have faded from their faces.

He notices that she is now in turn pale, and the light conversation she makes with the twins doesn't hide her uneasiness though she tries her best to pretend that all is well.

It is very clear that she has forgiven the twins' intrusion and won their eternal devotion, and he can only hope that she will forgive him too although his transgression is greater.

Though the tense thing inside himself disappeared after it made him snap, he feels far from light; he is more ashamed than he has ever been in his life.

And he can feel, in the connection between them that is never completely shut off these days even when they do their best to close it off, that though she keeps up a conversation with the twins Tuilindien is unhappy and scared. That makes him utterly miserable as well, and afraid of what consequences his actions will have.

He doesn't know what he could say here that would make things better, so he drinks his tea and stays silent.

*

A/N: Warning: there is some mild violence in this chapter courtesy of those anger management issues of Carnistir's. It's not very intentional but it does happen.

Several people have noted in comments to various chapters that Carnistir has kept his temper impressively in check. Well, now the pressure got to be too much for him. Tuilindien has a strong reaction to it, because this pre-darkening Valinor is a very peaceful place with no violence to speak of, and thus even small acts of physical aggression have significance.

In the next chapter, the 'Angst' tag is justified.

Please let me know what you thought!

Heith Week - “Touch Aversion“

Day 3: Fighting/Touch

Because touch-averse Keith is still one of my favorite headcanons and I don’t explore it often enough.

[Read on AO3]

Keith didn’t like to be touched.

He’d never been able to describe it: the way a stranger brushing up against him in a crowd left a residue on his skin he couldn’t wash away. The way his foster parents’ hugs had smothered him, left him feeling trapped. The way a friendly jab or a slap on the arm or a hand ruffling his hair hit him like an electric shock, hot and sharp and just this side of painful.

He’d never figured out how to explain that to people, as he’d never been able to explain to his own satisfaction why some touches were different. Saying it, saying it was different with certain people, in certain contexts, on certain days, made it all feel like a lie he’d built up to shut people out. But it was different. It didn’t bother him when Shiro put a hand on his shoulder. It didn’t hurt. Didn’t chafe. Shiro was safe, and his touch was grounding, and Keith didn’t know why, but that changed things.

He thought, maybe, things had changed where the other paladins were concerned, too.

The first few days on the castle-ship had been overwhelming. New people, new routines. His life tossed up in the air, and him only barely holding on, only treading water because he had Shiro again.

It took two days for Keith to realize Hunk was a hugger. When he was happy, he lifted you up and squeezed so hard it seemed something had to burst. When he was sad, he burrowed into you, molding himself like a second skin. When he was excited, it was an arm around the waist; when he was worried, he latched onto the nearest arm. He did it without hesitation, without even really seeming to realize what he was doing. As the cheesy survey his caseworker had made him take would have put it, touch was Hunk’s love language.

And it most certainly was not Keith’s.

At first, Keith had held out hope that it was only with Lance that Hunk was so… clingy. That their long friendship made Hunk more comfortable, more—for lack of a better word—intimate. That it would be different with the other five, who barely knew Hunk at all.

He was wrong.

And Keith being Keith, being the friendless, grumpy, quick-tempered loner he was, had thrown up his walls. It was after one of their early battles, and Hunk was trying to pull everyone in for a group hug. Keith danced back, crossed his arms, and glared at the far wall.

“I don’t like being touched.”

Funny, how clearly he remembered Hunk’s look of puzzlement, the touch of sorrow in his eyes, like something in Keith was broken. Like rejecting a hug was rejecting him. (Keith couldn’t blame him for that; all of Keith’s foster parents had taken it the same way, had tried again and again to coax him into hugs he didn’t want, and always acted so dejected when he’d wriggled away from arms that hovered just above his skin, afraid to touch but still close enough that he could feel them there, an electric charge in the air.)

Keith was pretty sure Shiro had explained it to the others later, when Keith was holed up in his room, barricaded against the others’ sorrow and pity and hurt. Touch-aversion, his caseworker had called it. Most likely related to his other sensory issues. Nothing personal.

Hunk did his best to respect Keith’s boundaries, though Keith could see the way it gnawed at him to hold back. It was the way he took a half a step toward Keith after battle, arms open for a hug, before he remembered. It was the way his eyes burned into the back of Keith’s head when Keith was in a bad mood. It was the way Hunk sometimes fiddled with his gloves when he hung out with Keith, like he had to give his hands something else to do to keep them from spontaneously pulling Keith into a hug.

It was… nice. That Hunk cared enough to hold back. It was a nice change from foster parents who had treated it like a flaw to be polished away by fake smiles and coerced affection. But Hunk’s consideration also made Keith feel guilty as hell. If Shiro was safety, was grounding, why couldn’t Hunk be, too? Why shouldn’t he be, except that Keith was still too scared to find out?

Keith couldn’t pinpoint the day things changed. Maybe it was when they were all separated by the corrupted wormhole, and Keith, alone and aching, had felt the others’ absence like a hand hovering over his back, close enough to make his skin crawl.

Maybe it was after he found out he was part Galra, when Allura was looking at him with thinly-veiled hatred and Keith had to grit his teeth and remind himself that he was a paladin, not a child, and he couldn’t demand that Shiro always be there as a buffer against the rest of the team.

He wasn’t sure he wanted a hug. Maybe he just wanted to want it. He wanted something to sooth the ragged edges inside him, and it struck him that that was just the sort of thing other people fixed with hugs, and he was desperate enough for comfort he almost didn’t care that it had never worked that way for him before.

He was desperate enough for some tangible sign that he was still wanted that when it came time to part ways, Keith threw his arms around Shiro and clung. His guilt rose high to choke him as Shiro hesitated, for just an instant, surprised that Keith—Keith—was hugging him.

Then Shiro’s arms closed around him, and it was the same as it always was with Shiro—warm, but not stifling; tight, but not constricting. There was no hesitation in Shiro’s hug, not like the foster parents whose hugs always telegraphed their uncertainty, their doubts, and their discomfort. Shiro held him, warm, steady, comfortable. A promise spoken through touch, words telegraphed into his bones as Shiro’s arms squeezed tighter.

Deep pressure, Pidge called it, smiling as though that explained everything.

The night before the joint assault with the Blade of Marmora, Keith found Hunk on the bridge, staring out over the forests of Olkarion, his hands curled over his heart like he was trying to keep it from escaping.

“You seem nervous,” Keith said, stepping up beside him.

Hunk glanced down, startled, and attempted a smile. “Yeah. Kinda. Big day tomorrow.”

“Mm.” Keith’s eyes darted sideways, noting the tremble in Hunk’s hands. “We’ll be fine. It’s a solid plan, and we’ll all be there to back each other up.”

“I know.” Hunk bit his lip, meeting Keith’s eyes for a moment before turning away. “That doesn’t mean I’m not still picturing all the ways it could go wrong. I mean, what if the virus doesn’t do what we need it to do? What if Allura can’t hold open a wormhole that size? What if the teludav doesn’t even work? What if Zarkon has some trick up his sleeve we haven’t thought of? What if someone dies? What if--?”

“Hunk,” Keith said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Breathe.”

Hunk did so, though the air wavered on the exhale.

Keith studied him, heart in his throat, then hesitantly spread his arms. “You want a hug?”

Hunk’s head whipped around so fast the tails of his headband smacked him in the nose. “A—what?” Seeming to realize he was gaping, Hunk snapped his mouth shut. “I thought you hated hugs?”

Keith shrugged, looking at his toes. “Yeah, but you don’t,” he said with a nervous little laugh. “I think, considering the circumstances, I can make an exception… Unless--”

He’d just begun to lower his arms, feeling foolish, when Hunk fell against him, his arms engulfing Keith, squeezing the breath from his lungs. For just an instant, Keith panicked, the familiar sense of suffocation clawing at his chest.

Then Hunk breathed in, and Keith’s body automatically copied the motion. It was easy. Easier than he would have expected, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been so scared. Hunk was strong, but he wasn’t careless. His broad arms seemed to envelop Keith, wrapping him up in warmth and gratitude, like a blanket fresh out of the dryer or the sun on his back after a day of hiking the canyons outside the Garrison. It wasn’t entirely pleasant—but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, either.

Keith slowly wrapped his arms around Hunk’s back, easing into the embrace. He could do this. If Hunk could hold back, could abandon the language of touch to communicate his love in a way Keith understood, then it seemed only fair Keith learn to speak Hunk’s language. Maybe not all the time, maybe not always for long, but he could make the effort.

“Thanks, Keith,” Hunk whispered. “I needed this.”

Keith smiled and curled his hands into the back of Hunk’s shirt. “I’m glad I could help.”

The effect of divorce on your credit

Spring Divorce Lawyers: Today’s blog will feature you as the main character in a hypothetical divorce that you may (or may not) be going through. The purpose of trying to teach you all something through a story is that I understand financial discussions can be hard to follow at times and at the very least are not all that interesting. However, this is an important subject matter that I believe you should know something about before entering into a divorce.

Having a divorce attorney that is as good a teacher as they are an advocate is something that is not usually discussed when you are decided to hire an attorney, either. Hopefully, you will learn something today that will help you in moving forward with your divorce. If you have questions about credit, divorce or any subject in family law please do not hesitate to contact the Law Office of Bryan Fagan, PLLC.

An illustration of the importance of credit in your divorce

Suppose that you and your husband recently got a divorce. In your divorce decree, it stated that your husband would pay the balances and your four credit card accounts.

You took this to me that he would actually pay the balances as ordered and took no further action. After all- what more could you do? You signed the divorce decree and moved on with your life. You had your own attorney’s bill to pay and a life to work on after the divorce of your long-time spouse.

We flashforward six months after your divorce to find that your ex-husband still has not paid off these credit card accounts. Now all four creditors have been in touch with you for payment. No problem, you think. You go to your closet and pull out a copy of your Final Decree of Divorce just to make 100% sure that the Decree orders your ex-husband to pay those accounts and not you. With confirmation literally in hand, you call the first creditor to tell them that you are no longer on the hook for paying their bill.

Unfortunately, the credit card company has other ideas. Their response to your statement that you are no longer responsible for the bill is to say that their company is not a party to your divorce decree and that your name is on the agreement to pay any debts that have been incurred on the credit card you owned jointly with your ex-spouse. Lo and behold, when you get off the phone with the credit card company you come to find out that the late charges and missed payments have been piling up on your credit report.

Here you are, supposedly past your divorce yet unable to completely move forward with your life as a single adult. You find yourself in an unenviable situation- either pay the debts yourself in order to save your credit, or to pay an attorney to go back to the judge and attempt to hold your ex-spouse in contempt of court for having failed to pay the debts back as ordered.

Credit- an underappreciated and important aspect of any Texas divorce

The Woodlands Divorce Attorney: Issues that are related to credit are not typically at the top of any spouse’s shortlist as they discuss a potential divorce with an attorney.

After having done many, many consultations with potential clients of the Law Office of Bryan Fagan, PLLC I can say that very few people ever discuss debts/credit unless I first bring it up. There are, of course, issues to be decided in a divorce that is more important than your credit but it is nonetheless very important in its own right.

Individual Credit Accounts

It is important to remember that in Texas, the debts of your spouse may end up being your debts at the conclusion of your divorce. Now, if your spouse opens up a credit card in his name and takes out debts that have only benefitted him is it likely that this debt will be awarded to you in the divorce?

No, not at all. However, debts are divisible by your divorce and debts are to be divided in a just and right manner consistent with other circumstances of your case. The individual debts of your spouse, therefore, may appear on your credit report and vice versa.

If you were to open up a credit card in your name only (an individual account) the benefit for you is that if you are not working outside the home or do not have a huge income it could be difficult for you to earn credit on your own without the assistance of your spouse.

On the other hand, if you open up an account in your name only and do not allow your spouse access to that account it is only your actions that can negatively affect your credit in those circumstances. You bear all the responsibility for paying on that account- which if you are responsible, have a plan and stick to a budget may actually be a good thing for you.

Joint Credit Accounts

Kingwood Divorce Attorney: In your marriage, if you attempt to open up a joint account a creditor will look at your income, your financial assets, and your credit history- as well as those of your spouse.

In many marriages, one spouse will take the role of the financial nerd, keeping up dutifully with the bills while the other is the financial free spirit- earning money and spending it but doing little to chart the family’s financial course. Even if this applies to your family, you are still responsible for the debts incurred on any jointly held credit account that bears your name.

It is probable that you and your spouse combined are a more attractive borrower from a creditor’s perspective than you or your spouse alone. The downside of being able to earn credit from a creditor is that you now are responsible for paying on the debt. Take a look at your bank’s lobby or many of the buildings in the financial districts of Houston.

Their building is probably nicer than your home, and their furniture is nicer than what you have inside your house. My point? These lenders are doing well because of the interest you pay on those loans. Keep that in mind if you are still married and your spouse comes to you with an idea to take out a loan together.

Pay attention to your credit accounts

If you are already moving towards a divorce you should pull your credit report and take a look. Joint accounts need to be paid on during the divorce and you should not expect your spouse to just do it out of the kindness of his or her heart.

You may ultimately sign temporary orders that designate a spouse to make payments on the debt but in the early stages of your divorce, this may not happen. Point being is that you need to ensure with your spouse that those debts continue to be paid even if you are not explicitly ordered to do so. Your credit is at stake as well as your ability to quickly recover from your divorce, financially speaking.

Questions about credit and divorce? Contact the Law Office of Bryan Fagan, PLLC

Family Law Lawyer Houston: On behalf of the attorneys with the Law Office of Bryan Fagan, PLLC, I would like to thank you for showing an interest in this topic. Again, your credit may not be a top concern of yours as you head into a divorce but I can assure you it is important and will impact your life in tangible ways whether you like it or not. Protecting it before, during and after a divorce is key to your future success.

If you have questions about anything you’ve read today please contact the Law Office of Bryan Fagan, PLLC. We offer free of charge consultations six days a week with one of our licensed family law attorneys ... Continue Reading

Forget the Royal Mail share price. I’d buy this FTSE 250 9% yielder today

The Royal Mail share price has fallen by 55% in one year and the stock now offers a forecast dividend yield of 9.5%. I share my colleague Harvey Jones’ view that the outlook remains uncertain for this 500-year old firm.

I can see better opportunities elsewhere in the FTSE 250. Today I want to look at another 9% dividend stock that I rate much more highly.

Bovis is bouncing back

FTSE 250 housebuilder Bovis Homes Group (LSE: BVS) has delivered a textbook recovery over the last couple of years. Since taking charge in April 2017, chief executive Greg Fitzgerald has lifted pre-tax profit from £114m to £168m.

Mr Fitzgerald has also fixed the company’s reputation for sloppy finishing. Bovis’s HBF customer satisfaction rating has risen from two stars in 2017 to four stars for 2018. Despite this investment in quality, operating profit margins have risen from 12.5% in 2017 to 16.4% in 2018.

Further gains are expected in 2019, and Mr Fitzgerald expects the group’s strong cash generation to continue. For shareholders, this is expected to result in a total dividend of 102.2p per share for 2019, giving a yield of 9.5%. A similar payout is expected in 2020.

Too good to last?

I don’t expect Bovis to be able to sustain such generous special dividends forever. But with earnings expected to rise by 6% this year and by 10% in 2020, I expect the dividend yield to remain above 5% unless market conditions get much worse.

Housing always carries some cyclical risk. But I see Bovis as attractively priced and operating well. I’d buy.

Profit from the silver pound?

Building retirement homes for wealthy retirees should be a profitable business. At least, that’s probably what investors thought when they bought shares in McCarthy & Stone (LSE: MCS) shortly after its 2015 flotation.

Unfortunately, things haven’t turned out that way. The shares now trade about 40% below their IPO price and the dividend hasn’t risen since 2017. Worse still, figures released today show that the group’s adjusted operating profit margin of 7.6% is less than half the 16% figure being achieved by Bovis Homes.

Are things getting better?

Today’s half-year results are a mixed bag, in my view.

The good news is that completions rose by 11% to 845 units during the first half of the year, while the average selling price climbed 7% to £319k. These gains lifted half-year revenue by 17% to £280.5m and boosted underlying operating profit from £14.5m to £21.3m.

On the other hand, the group admits that it’s having to use “discounts and incentives, particularly part-exchange”, due to challenging conditions in the wider housing market.

What could go wrong?

On average, the company says that £27.2m was tied up in part-exchange properties during the first half of the year. This figure is expected to rise to 10% of net assets — or about £74m — during the second half, according to today’s results.

In my view, that’s too much. The figure for Bovis was just 1.6% of net assets at the end of 2018. Although McCarthy shares now trade in line with their tangible net asset value of 126p, I’d want a discount before I’d take on this level of risk.

With the stock yielding just 4.2% and profit margins under pressure, I see better value elsewhere. I’d avoid.

Investing For Income?

If you’re looking to supplement your salary or pension with regular dividends, then this special free investing report could be a great place to start! ‘A Top Income Share From The Motley Fool UK’ profiles a company that you’re bound to have heard of … but what you may have overlooked is the current near-6% yield on offer that our Motley Fool analyst believes is “comfortably covered by profits and by the firm’s cash flow”. Click here to claim your free copy now!

More reading

Why I think these small-cap dividend stocks could set you on your way to making a million

Is this recovering company still too cheap to ignore?

Is this promising growth stock about to break out and become the next Fevertree Drinks?

Is it game over for pharma flop Indivior after 75% crash?

Another FTSE 100 stock I’d buy and hold forever

Roland Head owns shares of Bovis Homes Group and Royal Mail. The Motley Fool UK has no position in any of the shares mentioned. Views expressed on the companies mentioned in this article are those of the writer and therefore may differ from the official recommendations we make in our subscription services such as Share Advisor, Hidden Winners and Pro. Here at The Motley Fool we believe that considering a diverse range of insights makes us better investors.

Is Property a Right or Physical?

Last week, the Second Circuit Court of Appeals ruled that ReDigi’s business format violated Copyright laws in Capitol Records, LLC. v. ReDigi Inc. The lawsuit was filed by music producing companies. Until hearing about this case, I never knew such a company existed, or what it did. But once I did, I began to wonder again, just like in my first week of property law class, what is property?

ReDigi’s* business model transfers digital music from one person’s hard drive to theirs for resale to another person after fully deleting the file from the original purchaser’s hard drive. According to ReDigi, their system fully got rid of the file from the original owner’s, and temporarily stored the file onto ReDigi’s "lockers” until a new person bought it from them, where ReDigi would transfer and fully delete any possession of it.** The court held that this was not actually a transfer of the property, but instead of a form of replication to make a copy from the original purchaser to the new buyer and ReDigi.

Here’s where I get confused. Property is by definition the right of ownership over something. There are several levels of property rights: ownership, title, possession, control, use, etc. So really property is a legal right of ownership of some form over something. Some call is a bundle of sticks- each stick a different attribute needed to form the bundle considered “property”. Physical objects are the easiest to understand when it comes to property rights. If it is physical, there can only be one tangible object to lay claim to. Its use, transfer, location, and existence is not up for debate because any action over it has a physical component or representation that is the actual property itself unattached to something else.

Not so much with intangible property. Ideas and information are not physical, even when they are put into physical form. Let’s get philosophical for a moment. A word is the representation of an idea. It can be shown physically on paper like in a book, or digitally like on a computer screen. But when you start to think about it further, it’s really just an idea. The digital representation of it on a screen is really just a projection of some algorithm reading a bunch of 1s and 0s in software code. In both instances, it’s still just representing the idea of the word itself. And when you continue to think about it, even the sound we make with our mouths is another physical expression of the idea that is the word, just that it comes out in a wave and can only be put into captured form when put on a recording devise. All of this is to say that a word is just an idea- something that is intangible even though there are physical ways of expressing it.

This is where the difficult part lies with determining property rights for intangibles. The right attaches primarily to the idea, and not the physical expression of that idea. The ReDigi case, however, is doing just the opposite. It transferred the right over information manifested in it’s physical form as if that’s where the intangible property right lies.

The problem with this case is that it didn’t rule on the fact that ReDigi’s software doesn’t actually completely rid buyers from the ability to make copies after they transfer the song to ReDigi. It operated under the fact scenario that ReDidgi’s product makes replications, with the assumption that previous owners possession of the product was completely extinguished in the transfer process. Let’s assume a product was made where full deletion of the original purchaser’s product was possible. The law in this case bars such a system from operating. Pretend a company comes into being similar to iTunes where they sell original copies of music under licensing agreements from music producers, but they also allow users to sell the titles back to them after they’re done and the files never leave the company’s system- a form of undownloadable/uncopyable (?) streaming or something to prevent the removal of music from the seller’s platform. To emphasize this hypothetical situation, the music cannot be copied anywhere else and just stays on the system. This case bars the user from selling the music back to the system second hand like they could if they sold a used physical book or CD. Even though they have a right of ownership over a single song based on their purchase, this case says that unless you attach it to a physical object that is for sale, you have no right to sell it again.

This is where I struggle with rights over intangibles. The law wants to give them copyright protection, but because of the ease of replication from thieves, it then prevents those who are legitimately in a situation to make a second hand sale from doing so. The more intangible a product or service, the less property rights a buyer has over what they own. Even worse, I assume the companies making intangible products create contracts that will over time further and further erode what a person can do with it. The prominence of the sharing or lending economy is growing more and more. I guarantee the original creator’s rights will get stronger.

The weird part is that courts know what to do if say the owner decides to stream the music after they buy it to let millions of other listen to it for a cheaper price than the original producer. You need a licensing agreement for that. Radio stations have been using this business model since your grandparents time. Under a licensing scenario, the property right isn’t transferring to the listener when received, just its physical representation. In this case, however, there is no licensing agreement needed, because a person isn’t just temporarily transferring the physical representation of the file (sound). Instead they are extinguishing any claim of right over it to a secondary market. The ability to make copies or stream the property ceases (theoretically) once the first purchaser sells the song to a secondary market. To be clear, the right no longer exists- i.e. property no longer exists.

All of this assumes the ability to retain the property goes away. If it doesn’t, you get into the hard problem with defining property, and why its a lot like a bundle of sticks.You might not have the right of dominion and control over a music file legally, but you may have possession of it illegally, and therefore the ability to use it. You can see why the concept of property is difficult. Even I’m getting lost as I try to logically write this babbling nonsense.

Since we’re on the subject, I’d like to say that property right protections got stronger over time as Congress deemed it important that inventors have longer dominion over their creations. I don’t necessarily agree with this, however. Why does Disney get to control Mickey Mouse for 75 years while a person who invented the cell phone get a couple decades? Why does an author get their whole life + 50 years? Why is their family so fucking special? Economists agree that property rights are essential to the proper functioning of an economy, but also universally agree that monopoly hurts it. Exclusive property rights for a temporary period of time supposedly encourages innovation, but how is innovation encouraged when you just need to make one good thing to carry you through the rest of your life? When reading history, grants of monopoly were determined to be wrong (see East India Trading Co. and other markets for goods). Why is it that the inventions or innovative ideas in certain markets get to last so long? And further, why is it that some get to control property long after they sell it while others do not? Why do some forms of property get to hold ownership over their altered posterity, like genetically modified seeds creating new plants with a non-genetically modified plant, while others do not, like parodied music? It’s not always just a matter of the nature of the product or market it operates in. At this point I’m just rambling. I think temporary monopolies awarded for innovation can be a good incentive (lots of debate on whether this is true or not), but in some places “temporary” was forgotten. It is more fitting to call it protectionist. I imagine that Disney will lobby hard to extend their exclusive property rights when Mickey Mouse comes up for expiration in the next couple years (I’ve heard there is a possibility extending the protection period to 125 years, if I remember correctly).

Anyways, this long post was written over two separate sittings (The Innocent Man documentary on Netflix got in the way) so it probably doesn’t make a lot of sense. Meh. The point is defining property is not easy, and from the looks of it, this court may have unfairly limited future innovation from creating a functioning secondary market in intangibles that doesn’t require a physical place to attach to. I think it’s amusing how the court actually said a person could find a lucrative way of buying 100 or so songs, loading it onto an iPod, and then sell it in the secondary market, as if that means that the person didn’t also keep the song on their hard drive. Sure, a secondary market could exist like that, but people aren’t going to want to shop for music on Craigslist like this- an alternative secondary market that is efficient could potentially exist if this case didn’t prevent it. The court seemed a bit ignorant to both technology and the fundamentals of what property is best described at its core- a right.

Side Note: ReDigi’s also claimed that their system was fair use, but was completely wrong. The court got it right on this front. Fair use implies some type of change in what the product is before selling it to others, like making a parody or using it for educational purposes. ReDigi’s system was nothing more than reselling the exact same product on the secondary market (or as the court found, just making an illegal replication). ReDigi claimed that their fair use was the creation of the secondary market. While creating a market is an innovative and separate creation, I don’t think it falls into the sphere of changing the files it sold or doing something that involved actually using the product for ancillary purposes other than straight up resell. ReDigi’s secondary market is not an instance of fair use.

*It is unclear if they are still in business for some other enterprise or not at the moment

**The case actually described how this was not truly the case. If a person bought a song from iTunes and uploaded it to their iCloud account, even after ReDigi’s software searched the owner’s computer for the file, it could not access their iCloud account to delete it. The original owner would still be able to access the file on their iCloud, while being able to sell the file to an ignorant ReDigi. Also, if someone copied the song onto a disk or other device not connected to the person’s computer hard drive, ReDigi’s software had no way of dealing with it. To me, this is the best grounds on which the court should have relied for why ReDigi’s business model was in violation of copyright laws.

Descendants, Chapter 33

-----

Holtzmann slid quickly down the fire pole when she heard the sound of her wife’s and Erin’s voices downstairs.

They had not long gotten back from their trip, having stopped by Erin’s place long enough to drop off her things. Holtz ran up and hugged and kissed her wife.

“Yes, I brought back beignets,” said Abby, straightening her glasses from here Holtzmann had knocked them askew.

“You are the best lover ever,” said Holtz happily as she clung tightly to Abby. “Hi Peanut,” she said, leaning down and kissing her wife’s baby bump. “Missed you too.”

“Where’s Kevin?” asked Erin, looking around.

“His and Zack’s flight got delayed,” said Patty. “They’ll get in around five.”

“Aww, we brought him a sandwich,” said Erin.

“You brought back food from New Orleans?” Patty asked, surprised.

“Didn’t think we could come back empty-handed,” said Abby. “So lunch it is, although it’s probably not all that warm by this point.” Erin put down a large soft sided lunch box on the conference table. Holtz and Patty looked amazed as they sat down.

“What all did you bring back?”

“Oh, just a bit of this and that,” said Abby. She opened the bag. “A little bit of chicken and boudin gumbo and some crawfish etouffe. We hid them under the sandwiches and the TSA worker didn’t look much, so we got lucky.” She placed two Styrofoam containers on the table. “And just for Patty, a real New Orleans muffuletta sandwich.” She slid the container to Patty, along with a hardback book.

“Also, one copy of the biography of Marie Laveau, complete with the picture Erin took of the restored grave inside.”

“Yes!” she said. “You know how to treat a woman right girl.” Abby grinned and Erin noticed Holtz’s waiting eyes. She handed her a large foil wrapped sandwich.

“A shrimp Po’boy just for you. And Abby’s got your souvenirs.”

“Excellent,” grinned Holtzmann. “I always knew I liked you better.” She blew a kiss to Erin.

“Now all we need is plates and bowls,” said Patty. “And some drinks.”

“I’ll go get them,” said Holtz, getting up. She kissed her wife on the cheek. “Sit down.”

“Yes mom,” said Abby, rolling her eyes. Erin chuckled.

“And like Abby said, we also brought back beignets and a couple of slices of King Cake since it is close to Mardi Gras.”

“What is King Cake?” said Holtz as she sat down plates and bowls. She disappeared again and came back with silverware, napkins, and a six pack of vitamin infused water.

“It’s a Mardi Gras tradition,” said Patty. “It’s a coffee cake type of cake decorated with green, purple, and gold icing representing the three wise men. Each cake has a tiny plastic baby in it, representing, you know, Christ. And whoever finds the baby is labeled King for the rest of the day and has to buy the next King Cake.” Erin started pulling out the sweets and showed Holtz the cake in its plastic container.

“Looks... interesting,” stated Holtzmann, looking unsure at it.

“You’d better make sure your piece doesn’t have the baby in it,” teased Erin. “There are a few places that the superstition is that whoever finds the baby is also the next to have one.”

“Don’t worry Holtzy,” said Patty. “The piece with the kid is probably still in New Orleans.” She laughed when Holtz pushed both pieces of cake towards Abby.

“I think not,” said the paranormal researcher, setting them back down in front of Patty and Holtz. “Besides Erin and I already had our pieces this morning with breakfast, no babies found.”

“By the way, confiscate your wife’s luggage,” said Erin to Holtzmann. “I think she brought back four cans of an extra dark roast coffee with chicory they were selling in the cafe we ate at. It was very strong.” Abby nudged Erin hard, who squeaked and tried to get away from her best friend, even if they were standing next to one another.

“Not my coffee,” said Abby said to Holtzmann. “I need it.”

“Steal coffee out of Abby’s bags, got it,” said Holtz.

“I hate you both,” sighed Abby, stealing away from Erin Kevin’s sandwich and putting it back in the bag. “He can eat it tomorrow.” Erin pouted at that, hoping to get to eat it instead. Abby slid the container of beignets to her wife, who had been spooning some of the gumbo into her bowl. When the blonde smiled and took one of the treats, Abby was reminded of how she had fallen in love with Holtz in the first place, which was Holtzmann just being herself and not the act she put on. She couldn’t wait to fall asleep next to her wife that night and actually sleep. It had been a long trip and she didn’t want to admit to Erin that she hadn’t actually gotten much rest.

-----

Abby made Holtz promise for them to go back sometime in the future to Louisiana and visit Manchac Swamp and a few other places that evening before bed. Holtzmann was already wearing the t-shirt Abby had gotten her and playing with the voodoo doll Erin had bought her as a joke. Holtz had already dressed it in a bit of tweed and a tiny bow-tie and was holding a container of straight pins Abby wasn’t even sure where she had gotten them from. The tweed either. Abby was almost afraid it had come from one of Erin’s suits.

“I’m glad you and Patty had fun with the new recruits,” she said, getting under the covers.

“They’re going to be a good team,” said Holtz. “They mesh well and took quickly to the equipment. Both Beth and Jen have great aim.”

“Good,” said Abby, yawning. She pulled Holtzmann into her arms. Holtz put down the doll and pins and snuggled into Abby’s chest.

“You’d think we don’t do this multiple times a year,” said Abby. “Both of us taking trips.”

“It is always nice coming home to you,” purred Holtz. “Especially these puppies.” She laid a kiss on each breast.

“So we’re good from now on through April?” asked Abby. “No plans?”

“Not for us anyway,” nodded Holtz. “Unless something unexpected comes up.” She rubbed a hand across Abby’s abdomen.

“You can concentrate on the baby, I can concentrate on you, and Patty and Erin can make sure we don’t kill each other in the process.” Abby laughed at that and ran a hand through Holtz’s hair, pulling it loose from the up-do.

“We may have to help calm their nerves afterward,” she said. “Since they’re both going through with the adoption and fostering.”

“I wish Erin didn’t have to do it alone,” Holtz said softly. “I know she’s hurting.” Abby rubbed Holtz’s shoulder.

“Erin will do what she has to do,” she replied. “She always has.”

“And what are we doing?” humored Holtz.

“Sleeping,” said Abby. “God, I’m exhausted.” She turned over on her side from her back and Holtzmann moved so she could cuddle into Abby instead of on top of her.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

-----

Two weeks passed and there was not much left to teach the new team except for actual field work. The team had sent in their reports to the state that the newbies were ready. Erin and Patty had discussed that they were privately grateful that they had the new team there in the firehouse for now. It let them catch up on a lot of paperwork and the flood of interviews coming in about the proposal Abby and Erin had made about changing the class system of how ghosts were categorized. It seemed like there was a good response. Even Maureen Kemp had reached out to them, wanting to get a look at their research and visit their facilities. This had sent both Abby and Erin in a mini dance party because of how much they had leaned on her work in their early days of writing their first book. But now they were in a whole new territory. The scientific community was having to acknowledge that the paranormal existed. The melding of the two worlds was really beginning, and the whole team was just happy that people recognized what they had been doing and were doing and that they weren't crazy.

Mostly Erin, but that was a given.

When her editor finally got back to her to let her know that the final editing had been approved and being sent to the printers, Abby was happy. She couldn’t wait to show it to Erin when it was finally tangible. She hoped it would go over well. She hadn’t exactly discussed it with her best friend, and she knew Erin was dying of curiosity of what she had written. Well, helped write. But Erin didn't know that yet.

But right now, she was dying of boredom. She was sitting at the conference table, rubbing her abdomen, smiling a little as she felt their baby squirming around. Abby knew it had to be getting tight in there and not easy to turn about. Erin and Patty had collaborated on a paper about ley lines and how they affected history. It had been interesting watching them do the research needed. So they had been getting Abby and Holtz’s opinion on their work, even passing it out for the new Ghostbusters to read. Angie and Jen had seemed the most excited by it. Patty had been pleased to learn that Jen had a secret passion for history and had even given her thoughts on more events to look into. The whole reading had lapsed into Jen and Angie having a conversation about whether mystical forces might have had something to do with the Tunguska Explosion and everyone looking on in amusement.

“All hands on deck!” yelled Kevin from his desk before ringing the firehouse bell. Abby watched as the new recruits automatically stood up and started going towards the new set of lockers. Erin offered a hand up to Abby before they went over to their receptionist.

“What’s going on--?” began Erin. Kevin gestured to the phone.

“Police called. There was a gas explosion at the Federal Prison out near Long Island,” said Kevin. He still had the phone in his hand from where he had taken the call. “Big one. Shook the whole area and shook out a few ghosts apparently. They’re hindering the cleanup. The prisoners are on lock down, but the ghosts are getting in and--”

“We get the picture,” said Patty. “Okay, I’m calling shotgun Holtzy.” She turned around and saw the blonde with a grimace on her face.

“Holtz, you’re just going to have to let it go this time,” said Erin gently. “Like Kevin said, ALL hands on deck. We can send Abby to deal with the administration so we don’t have to.”

“And she can keep us coordinated,” said Patty. “We’ve got more than a couple of us now.” Abby tried not to laugh at everyone jumping to her defense. She rubbed her nose and looked at her wife.

“It’s not like I can even be in uniform anyway, and the pack straps are a little tight. Not to mention I don’t need a second thing pressing on my spinal column right now.”

Holtz let out a noise through her nose that sounded vaguely like an annoyed elephant and headed toward the lockers.

“Although Holtz is right,” said Erin, touching Abby’s shoulder. “Don’t do anything to put yourself in danger.”

“Yeah, the last place we want to visit is a hospital with you in premature labor after this,” said Patty, following Erin towards their lockers. “I’d like to see my bed tonight Abby.”

-----

The place was an absolute mess when both Ghostbusters vehicles drove into the parking lot of the prison. Flames were still coming out of a side building and people were moving about quickly. There was still a lot of debris on the ground and hanging off the buildings.

A prison official was there by the side of the vehicle by the time Holtz had stopped the car.

“Thank god you’re here,” said the man, looking harried. “Ghosts!”

“We are aware sir,” said Erin, closing the car door behind her. “Do you know approximately how many?”

“No, no idea,” babbled the man. “We think they’re all in the cell blocks now, frightening the prisoners. They seemed to like having... someone incapacitated to torture.”

“Great,” said Patty. “Not like we don’t have enough problems...”

“We can do this,” said Diana, coming up beside her.

“Yeah, we’ve been training for this sort of thing,” said Jen. She hefted her proton wand into her hands. “Let me at ‘em.”

Erin grimaced at that. “This isn’t a walk in the park. We’re talking multiple class--”

“We know,” said Angie, coming up beside Erin. “We’ll be your backup. Just sort us into teams and we’ll follow your lead.”

Abby grinned, impressed that Angie had made Erin stop talking. “She’s right,” she responded with a nod. “They can do this.” She started gesturing to the group. “Angie, you and Diana go with Erin. Patty, you’ve got Beth and Jen. Holtz, you--”

“I’ll go scouting,” she said, adjusting the belt of grenades across her chest. “Gotcha.”

“Not alone,” said Abby, giving her wife a hard glare. She looked over to the prison official. “We need some of your guards. I don’t want our teams going alone in the cell blocks.”

“They’re at your disposal,” said the man. “Just name a number.”

“Eight at least.” The man nodded.

“Everyone got their traps, walkies?” asked Erin.

“And pack cameras on,” Abby added. “We can always use more footage for research.” Holtz nodded to the man, who gestured for them to follow.

-----

Anybody seeing anything?” asked Abby. She had set up shop in the central command of the prison, where all the cameras were. A few had been knocked offline, but there were guards stationed everywhere, so she hoped she wouldn’t have to worry about the places she couldn’t see. And all of them were wearing particle accelerators on their back, so if there was trouble... well, it wouldn’t be trouble for long.

But trouble had been a lot of trouble so far. They had captured at least three ghosts. Patty had found out on the way there that there had been a big prison break back in 1893 and the prisoners had killed at least 10 guards, if not more. The rumor was that the ones killed had been the ones torturing prisoners with anything they could lay their hands on. It fit with the profile of the ghosts.

“Abby... I’m thinking the barrier must be thin here,” said Erin over the radios they used for communication. “I’m seeing a lot of activity.”

“Same here,” said Beth. “PKE readings even out here on the grounds where the ghosts are not is still very high.”

“Well, keep an eye on your six,” said Abby. “We don’t need any surprises.”

“I can’t keep an eye on my ass, Abby,” said Holtz, trying not to sound amused over the radio. “It’s behind me.”

“That’s Abby’s job usually,” said Patty, laughing. Erin groaned.

“Let’s stick to the ghosts please?”

“Parents,” said Diana with a sigh. “Our moms always fight.”

“MOMS seriously?” exclaimed Patty. “We’re all educated, kick ass women. Don’t all of you have your doctorates too?”

“Well--” said Angie over the radio in a tiny voice.

“Really?” said Holtzmann, sounding surprised. “Huh. Hadn’t realized that.”

“I sort of dropped out of school to start my company,” said Angie. “Then I traveled for a bit and just... never got back to it.”

“You should have never told Patty that, Angie,” said Abby over the radio.

“Uh-huh,” said Patty. “Now your ass is going to back to school, am I right ladies?”

Angie sounded sheepish. “Maybe I can buy an honorary doctorate?”

“Nope,” said Holtzmann. “Because Patty will know. You do not want to piss off Patty.”

The sounds of a skirmish got their attention and Abby could see Patty, Jen, and Beth dealing with a couple of ghosts outside.

“Seeing anything Holtz?”

“If you mean seeing more and more rows of cement blocks, then yeah, plenty.” Abby could hear cries of help and more squeals of fear in the distance on Holtz’s radio.

“There is something definitely ahead of you.”

When Holtz didn’t say anything, she knew her wife was thinking the same thing. Abby really didn’t like Holtzmann going off by herself, even if she did have prison guards with her. When she heard more fighting noises coming from the radios of Angie, Diana, and Erin, she knew they had found something as well. She checked the monitors showing the teams and all she could see was blurred streams. Abby paced back and forth, feeling like a worried mother hen. It was one thing when it was their lives on the line, but with the new team, the thought of having to call someone’s family and tell them that they had gotten injured or worse while in the field...

“Damn, that second one put up a fight,” said Jen with a cough over the radio. Abby was relieved to see Beth holding up a smoking trap.

“We’re not liable for property damage, right?” asked Diana.

“No, those go to the city,” smirked Abby as she spoke into the radio. The prison manager didn’t look too happy, but the place was already damaged by the gas explosion, so what was the big deal with adding a few more drops to already overflowing bucket?

“Good, because I think--” began Holtzmann, but there was a noise and what sounded like a loud crash, followed by what sounded like a skirmish.

“Holtz!” said Abby. She tried finding anything on the cameras, but Holtzmann was in a dead zone where some of the cameras were down.

“We’re headed that way!” said Erin on the radio.

“We got her Abby,” said Patty. “Don’t worry."“I’ve got to get down there,” said Abby. She started towards the door, but the prison manager shook his head.

“I’ve got to get down there,” said Abby. She started towards the door, but the prison manager shook his head.

“Doctor Yates, I can’t let you go down there. It’s not safe right now for someone in your condition, especially alone.”

“But that is my wi--” Abby started to argue, but she got interrupted.

“Holtz is fine Abby,” said Erin quickly over the radio channel. “Angie and Diana are helping her up now.”

“I got the ghost!” said Holtzmann happily.

“And she’s killing our shoulders,” groaned Diana.

“I can’t put my weight on my ankle Abs.”

“The manager is saying to take her up to the infirmary,” said Abby into the radio. “They’ll look her over.” She sighed, feeling a headache coming on.

-----

“Abby, I’m fine, you can stop fussing,” said Holtz. She huffed and looked at the ice pack on her foot.

“You’ve got a sprained ankle and a concussion from where you hit the floor and wall from sliding in ectoplasm, you’re not fine,” snapped back Abby.

“That was the best!” said the blonde with a teasing grin. “We will have to try that again. I would have never thought of an ectoplasm slip and slide.”

“How can you even sprain your ankle in those stiff boots?” said Abby, shaking her head with a huff.

“I am just that talented,” responded Holtzmann. “How are the others?”

“Rounding up another ghost from what I can hear through the earpiece,” said the brunette. “You just relax. You’re not doing anything else except going back to the firehouse and hitting the couch.”

“And I shall hit it so hard.” When Abby gave her a look, the engineer realized how worried Abby looked. She leaned forward and kissed her wife on the forehead.

“I’m fine, Abs. You can quit panicking.”

“I’m going to have to wrap the both of you in bubble wrap and protect you from the world.” Holtz rubbed the side of Abby's face.

“A future project,” promised Holtz. “You should go back and help coordinate the others.”

“I’m staying here,” said Abby. “They can go on without me. And apparently, the prison manager thinks I’m a liability to have around anyway. He didn’t want me in the central command office because I think he thought I’d somehow figure out how to help the prisoners escape. I had to gently remind him that we were there at his request and I had to coordinate my teams.”

“Not to mention being very pregnant and around a recent gas leak and explosion,” said Holtz, touching her wife’s round belly. “Carbon monoxide is probably not the best thing to be exposed to.”

“I’m fine, you know that.” “But I’m also a scientist and can calculate exposure rate in my head. However, they cannot, especially when they have enough to worry about.” Holtz winced as she moved around. “I need to put my boot back on if I’m going to walk out of here in any fashion.” Abby helped her slide her foot gently in it, loosening it up enough to slide in the ice pack.

“We should also mention the carbon monoxide poisoning symptoms to the new kids and tell them if they start developing any symptoms to get to the hospital.” She yawned. “I sort of felt bad for Angie and Diana. I was having balance problems on top of my normally graceful self. I couldn’t walk upright.”

“It was the concussion,” said Abby, frowning. “Having any sensitivity to light or headaches?”

“Yes,” muttered Holtz, gesturing to the large overhead lights. “But not much we can do about it in these settings.” Abby patted her knee.

“By the way, you’re not driving back,” said Abby. She made a gesture to Holtz to hand over the keys.

“My baby,” whimpered Holtzmann as she gave them up. She pouted at Abby, who chuckled and kissed her wife.

“You’ll survive.” The blonde grumbled at that.

-----

Kevin helped carry Holtz upstairs on his back once they got back to the firehouse, which led to her to start singing the lyric: Save a horse, ride a cowboy!  really loudly as they started climbing. Kevin started making neighing sounds halfway up, which made everyone start laughing. Erin tugged on Abby’s sleeve before she started up after them. Abby thought her best friend looked tired, but her red hair stood out against the Ghostbusters uniform in a commanding way. Her head was tilted sideways as she looked at her best friend expectantly.

“You know what I’m about to say, right? And you know I'm only saying this from the business perspective.”

Abby hadn’t even realized how thick the air was in the prison until she was breathing in the cold air from outside as Beth was parking the Ecto-3 in the garage. She took a deep breath of the fresh, clean air.

“That this is was a one time thing for the next few weeks and no more going on trips into the field?” said Abby, crossing her arms. “Holtz has already got you covered by the way.”

“You’re too far along,” said Erin, putting a hand on Abby’s forearm and gently squeezing it.

“Oh, believe me, my achy and swollen feet could tell you that,” winced Abby. “I’m going to go sit down and check to make sure Holtz has got that ankle propped up on the couch with ice.” She paused. “Feel free to come check up on us invalids in a little while if you’d like.”

“I’ll bring up the Chinese,” said Erin, rolling her eyes.

“Keep an eye on them and make sure they’re okay,” said Abby. “We don’t need for them to have to--” She took another deep breath and let it out. “To deal with some of the things we did so quickly.”

Erin was confused for a moment until she realized what Abby meant.

“No hitchhikers, gotcha.” She frowned. “Do you think we didn’t get all the ghosts?”

“If Patty’s story rings true which, she is always stellar at figuring out these things, then the exact number was never given. We don’t know if we did or if we didn’t.” Erin nodded.

“If they even all broke through the barrier.”

“There is always that,” nodded Abby.

“Go sit down and relax,” Erin said. “We can take care of everything.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Abby, shaking her head.

“Wouldn’t do this without you,” Erin said. “I mean that Abby.”

Erin didn’t even have to look at her best friend to know she was smiling as she headed up the stairs.

<– Prev | Next –>

What is Chi

My brother went visiting China once. He saw that famous emperor's chariot, as featured in one of "The Mummies" movies that has Jet Li in it. He said that the technology of how they weld the two types of metals together is a mystery, that it's difficult to do, even with modern technology. I forgot exactly what he said but it was something like that. I've always been interested in ancient mysteries in a factual inquisitive way. Like, I won't be all caught up with ideas that aliens visited us way back when and built the pyramids, that kind of thinking. What I am interested in, are things like, "If the Library of Alexandria was not burned down, will our perception and understanding of past civilizations and history be drastically different than what we have today?" It's not just the library that got burned down, Qing Shi Huang Di, the first emperor of China, also burned a bunch of book after he United China. The first emperor of the Ming Dynasty also burned a bunch of books and forbids the learning of the special techniques used by his chief strategist because it was too powerful and he's afraid. The technique was the Five Elements System and the Eight Hexagram System. It can be used to arrange army formations and make it change In a jiffy during battle, it's good for weather forecasting, use the natural geographies for your advantage, and then there's a magical aspect of things, too, which is weird, but this is pretty well documented, that the founder of the Ming Dynasty relied on him as the chief strategies, that he used relied on these techniques, and that the empower forbid the studies of it later. He is even on Wikipedia, search Liu Bowen. The greatest military strategist of China, Zhuge Liang, is said to have written down his tactics, but it was not passed on. The most famous doctor in Chinese history, Hua Tuo, is said to have given his written documentation of techniques to the prison guard who took good care of his, but the guard's wife burned it without permission, thinking that it will bring trouble, yet my doctor said that one of his formulas did get passed on and it does work, it was a anesthetic for external applications. In the Bible we have Noah and the flood. In Chinese mythology we have Nu-Wa, who, when the sky was falling down, helped mend it, using stars as nail (so stars are nail marks that hold up the sky lol :D). Furthermore, the Chinese character for ship is the combination of three characters: boat, eight, persons; and so it happens that there were eight people on Noah's ark. The Chinese character for righteousness is a combination of the character "sheep" on top of "me." All very mysterious, but we'll never know, since the books got burned down. Communist China also burned a lot of books, but they did keep one library. There was this guy who has a hobby of collecting books. In his will, he said that the library must not ever split up. An emperor once made a request to make copies of his library. When communist took over, they just flat out took everything lol :D. Very modest lol :D. The Chinese society has also been so modernized, that these ancient Chinese things are not really taught in school in great details, unless you major in Chinese history or something. In addition, the ancient Chinese language is very hard to read; I can pick up a modern book and read it just fine, but I cannot read those ancient writings. The Five Elements and the Eight Hexagrams System is also used in Chinese medicine, which, although there's a logic and scientific aspect to it, it's also of cultic origin, yet it works really well. And even though it's popular, it's actually a dying art, as less and less people know how to use these systems to practice Chinese medicine. Well, I wrote a lengthy introduction because what I want to write about today is kind of tricky. I want to convey the point that the ancient world and the ancient Chinese culture is really mysterious, and although there's definitely cult and all the demonic influences and stuff, yet the smartest people in our history worked under this system and it sustained the civilization for thousands of years. I just don't want people to read and think I'm some cult leader with a secret agenda of misleading a bunch of people into hell lol :D. What I want to write about today is chi, blood, and spirit. The Gospel of John starts with "In the beginning was the word, and the word is God and with God. All things were made through him and without him there's nothing made." The original word for "the word" is Greek, "Lagos", and I think that pastor from Maranatha said that in Ancient Greek, they think that the world is made through "Lagos" or something like that. The Chiense translates "Lagos" as "Dao." Now, in ancient times, "Dao" carries a very different meaning. Today we have, say, bushido, which means "the way of the warrior", that's the most famous use of the word. Other uses include the way of brewing tea, the way of the sword, and etc. But in ancient times, Dao refers to the origin of all things. Taking things one step further, Iching ("yee-Jing") is an ancient book that's really strange. Daoists love it, through it came the Five Elements, Eight Hexagrams, theory of Chinese medicine, amongst other things. Once I ask a guy who has decent understanding of that book, "What does it say about how the world will end?" He said, "All things returned to the source," which is what the Bible says, too, that God will return and everything will be restored back to him. There's this famous Chinese evangelist, Yuan Zhiming. He was a leader of the Tiananmen student movement back in 1989. He studied philosophy. He escaped to France and eventually became a Christian. He wrote a commentary on Lao Tsu's "Dao De Jing" with a Christian perspective. I guess, if anything, it sort of affirms that the ancient stuff is murky and mysterious. Chi literally translates to "air." When God created Adam and Eve, he breathed air into them. When Jesus said "received the Holy Spirit", he breathed onto them. In Chinese medicine, chi is a force that sustains life, and there's various types of chi's, like ying and yang chi, and there are chi's that should be expelled from your body, like moisture chi and cold chi. Chi and spirit are related, and this is where the natural and the supernatural meet, as well. I have reservations about practicing Qi-Gong (chi-gong), thinking that it's too close for comfort, being so close to touching the spiritual realm. I think practicing tai chi and learn some healthy breathing techniques should be ok, though, maybe, not sure. Chi and blood is related. Chinese medicine often use the term "blood-chi". In the Book of Acts it says to not eat blood because it's the source of life or something. So I think blood is where the physical and the chi sort of shares a common ground, like a bridge, and then, chi and spirit also shares a common ground, like a bridge. What happens is that, God made us to be spiritual being, and after Adam and Eve sinned, they became spiritually dead, which means spiritually disconnected with God's spirit. And when we meddle with the chi without being connected with God, then we meddle with demonic spirit, which could lead to devastating consequences, though perhaps some tangible power, as well. In Forerunner Christian Church's Healing Room, they highly recommend that people not practice things like chi-gong, because when they pray over them and do what they do, they tend to encounter problems with people who practice those. I think this is something that they have a lot of experience with. So like, although I've been quite intrigued with this mystery, and I've the opportunity learn it, I only allow myself to kind of poke around and see what it is and see what I can glean using just logic, reasoning, and scientific mindset. Although, in the back of my mind, I've been VERY curious, what if I've been made spiritually alive again and reconnected with the Holy Spirit? But I don't think I want to find out lol :D. Jesus said that from our bellies will flow rivers of living water. The belly is also where chi is stored, it's a place called Dan-tian. Dr. Oz on his show recommended people doing belly breathing, which will give you more energy, and I think that's something derived from yoga. So here is where everything connects. When we pray, worship, read Bible, and etc., we accumulate God's anointing, one droplet at a time, and where does it go? Where does it get stored? TA-DA! Being able to tap into that and use it so that whether you lead worship or preach or do whatever for Jesus, and get that extra umph, is something I've been thinking about, and I think it gives tangible results. It's a convoluted mess, but at the same time, this seems to be where so many different ideas meet. To sum it all up. I believe that this system of who we are the way God made us, has been well researched by the ancient Chinese, that we are made to be spiritual beings disconnected with God. God's spirit is not able to connect, yet we're still made the same way. There's that chi of life that God breathed into us, and that spiritual connection has been replaced by demonic spirits, for those who meddle with chi beyond the physical, natural level. When we become Christians, we become spiritually alive again. The Holy Spirit dwells in us, and we are made whole, functioning the way we were designed. And, here's my thinking, that perhaps we can tap into the spiritual aspect of chi in the form of prayer and worship and things like that, and work in greater conjunction with the Holy Spirit, the way we were originally designed. And here's what I got going so far. Of course all that teachings about following Jesus and pray and study the word of God and stuff, that's a given. Staying true to God, live with clean hands and pure hearts, that's another given. Work hard, love God, love people and stuff, that's another given. Holy Spirit's anointing will slowly accumulate over time, given you stay the course. Stay loose, focus inward, imagine a soup ladle digging down there, scoop it up, and make a splash. I guess chi has more applications than just Kung fu lol :D. Everything kind of builds around this central idea. This is what I do at my work when I need to come up with creative solutions to solve difficult problems, just stay calm and tap in. Interesting ideas emerge, more times than not. OK, I am officially too embarrassed to keep writing. I feel like a fiction writer or a lunatic lol :D.

Success is made up of courage, brains, and luck. Since the first two are a function of the third, you are pretty much own your own – Richard Jeni

You got the idea, this article will try to discuss the meaning of success and shall answer the question: “How to define success in life?” and what is a successful life?

There are some questions in life which are tricky to answer and the meaning of it keeps changing as we progress in life. I mean, Success has many meanings and every person has a different meaning of success. Sometimes the respect in the community or the top jobs in the big organization or winning a race or losing 5kg weight in a week or simply being happy in life makes you feel successful. So the first question arises: What is a definition of success?

The oxford dictionary describes success as: “attaining wealth, prosperity and/or fame”.

In other words, you could say, success means the achievement of desired results of planned goals. Hence, if you can achieve your set goals, you will feel successful.

However, If the above definition was true then all the wealthy and famous people would be extremely happy but we often read that it’s not the case. The reason why we think in such a manner because Media and Society often let us conclude that living a successful life means to be extraordinarily wealthy and have a lot of assets. However, the true meaning of success goes far beyond the common definitions of success, such as having a lot of money, being wealthy, having a lot of tangibles and earned degrees. True success in life cannot be measured with the above-mentioned factors.

One day, a little child was playing in the drawing room, while his father was busy working on his laptop. As he was playing, he put his hand into the very expensive flower vase but when he tried to take it out, he could not withdraw it. His father rushed to the child and tried too, but all in vain. After trying everything, his father gave up and thought of breaking the vase. However, his mother said one last try, “My son, make one more try. Open your hand and hold your fingers out straight as you see me doing, and then pull.” his mother asked him to follow her.

To their surprise, the little fellow said, “Oh no, mother. I can not straight out my fingers like that, because if I did I would drop my penny.”

Smile, if you will- but many of us are like that little boy, so busy holding on to the world’s worthless possessions that blinding us to see what’s really important in life? what makes you happy?

1. My definition of success

To me, the only definition of ‘success’ I have in life is:

Look at your own life, and ask yourself a simple question, “Are you happy at this present moment?” If the answer is capital ‘YES’ — you are successful.

“Success is simple. Do what is right, in the right way, at the right time – Arnold H. Glasow”

Don’t dwell on the past and don’t worry about future, try to live in the present and make sure, your present is peaceful and happy.

2. Never compare yourself with anybody

Success is never a comparison. Success is judging you by your own rules, your own barometer.

For example, anything, by comparison, can be made small.

You can have a 30-story skyscraper. But it looks small compared to a Burj-Khalifa or Empire state building.

You have a blacked-out Lamborghini Huracan. But it looks puny compared to an armoured Batmobile.

You have a 10-room Mansion in the hills. But that looks puny compared to the 1000-room Versailles Palace or playboy mansion.

You can own an entire continent, but if you go to space, the entire earth looks like a tiny speck of dust. Therefore, stop comparing your success with others.

3. What is ‘success’ in life?

In life, I believe in the idea that your only judge is you.  So, the only person that can answer the above question is you. You judge your own actions, and morals, and ethics. You can create a facade for everyone but you can not lie to one person that is yourself.

Oscar Wilde said, “The biggest fool in this world is the one who lies to himself”

Some might define success as having luxurious cars and a huge mansion, whereas others consider a life full of joy and happiness with their family as the true meaning of success. Once you have figured out what is important for you personally you are able to focus on your visions and goals.

Earlier, I used to give importance to what others thought of my life and success. This is because I had little confidence in myself.

However, as I progressed in life and saw success and failure both, I understood one thing, for me, the bottom line is, if I feel good about myself, then that is it. I just want to be grateful for my own opinion, my own thought, and my own world-view. I am not trying to preach over self-indulgent but believe in yourself.

Always remember, Picasso had a lot of haters when he did cubism. Oscar Wilde, Steve Jobs, Jean Michel Basquiat, Narendra Modi all had many haters but they all kept going. The more successful you are, the more haters you will get.

If you’re doing something totally different, you’re going to have haters. But don’t hate your haters; love them. Feel pity for them, because they are just sad people who have unrealized dreams. They feel angry because they see you pursuing your dreams. Hence, never let anybody define your success except yourself.

“Don’t ever let someone tell you, you can’t do something. Not even me. You got a dream, you got to protect it. People can’t do something themselves, they want to tell you you can’t do it. You want something, go get it. Period.” ― Pursuit of Happyness

Success quotes

What is Success? and How to Define Success in Life

What is Success? and How to Define Success in Life

What is Success? and How to Define Success in Life

Try failing, Just don’t fail to try.

What is Success? and How to Define Success in Life

Choice vs Chance

The most important things in life aren’t things.

Power of Life : Start each day with a grateful heart.

Time

Conclusion

To conclude this article, I would say, never stop following your passion in life. Don’t get surrender to other factors in life, define your success and work towards it. Don’t LIVE with what-If and regrets.  Live like what if today’s my last day.

The famous words of God of Cricket, Sachin Tendulkar, “Follow your heart, chase your dreams, dreams do come true”.  Even though he considered as the greatest batsman ever, It took him 22 years to win the world cup.

In the end, if success means different things to different people and has so much dogma around it, one must ask, should we actually be striving for success as others perceive? or Should we simply be looking at what makes us happy – knowing that if we follow our heart and do what we love, success in whatever form we desire will naturally follow.

Therefore, don’t try to measure or compare your success with others, try to Live the success by believe in yourself, following your dreams and writing your own journey. Always look at your own life, and ask yourself:

Do I feel successful?

If the Answer is No, then work towards changing it but If the answer is YES, then why do you care what others think? Unless you, yourself feel the success, you will never be successful or happy.

Be Happy, Stay Generous and Spread peace.

If you enjoyed this post, please share it on Facebook, Twitter, or by email and subscribe here for regular updates.

What is Success? and How to Define Success in Life